


This Body of Flame and Steel

by solfell



Series: Summer Sings in Me [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Asexuality, Demisexuality, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Cancer, Playing with Canon, Romance Arc AU, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 38,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4009186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solfell/pseuds/solfell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You should see the way he looks at you," Hawke says.</p>
<p>“How does he look at me?”</p>
<p>“The people here, they look at you as if you’re another Andraste, yes? Or that you’re her hand or tool or whatnot. The average person sees you, but with the holiness imposed over everything you are and everything you do,” Hawke explains. “They don’t often detangle you from the Herald. Cullen--he sees you like you’re you, without the godly parts, and he still has that look of awe and wonderment.”</p>
<p>Roshanak leans back in her chair, and takes a breath. “That’s… very specific.”</p>
<p>“My observational skills are fantastic when the situation’s not life or death,” Hawke states.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Haven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this as a whim, abandoned it, then decided to continue it because I hate myself and ship too many rarepairs.
> 
> Anyway, I wanted to see how an Adaar/Cullen romance would proceed, and thought I'd stretch myself and try writing a romance arc that wouldn't have me reciting every cut scene. Which I may or may not have accomplished. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> \---
> 
> In regards to the cancer tag: No one dies from cancer. This is not a cancer story. However, my Adaar is a breast cancer survivor; she received a double mastectomy a couple years prior to joining the Inquisition. (I headcanon that type of treatment as fairly common in Tevinter and Par Vollen, and among some Dalish clans. Her doctor has connections.) 
> 
> It's not really a big issue in the story, certainly not the focus, but it is something that's had an effect on her life and her worldviews. If that's triggering for you, I suggest caution. Also, if you have any suggestions in regards to the way I write my Adaar and her connection to cancer, I'm always open to feedback. (But please be gentle as I am a delicate doughnut.)

Josephine scratches a few last notes on her clipboard. “Anything else?” she inquires when she looks up.

A rivulet of wax drips down the candle nearest to Roshanak. It settles into a lopsided mound of other melted wax blobs. Ro wants to press her thumb into it, like she used to do as a child, and wait for the wax to harden against her skin so she could peel it off and see her fingerprint’s reflection. Ro blinks away the memories, and turns her focus back to the war map.

Leliana shakes her head and says, “No, I have nothing else to report.”

Cullen rests his hands on the pommel of his sword. Ro hasn’t known him long, but recognizes his ‘at-ease’ posture. He says, “The mages are ready to march on the Breach as soon as you’re ready, Herald.”

“Understood.” She makes eye contact with her advisors. “We’ll reconvene in a week, and then make for the Breach. Thank you.”

The others head towards the door, but Ro hangs back and clears her throat. “Commander, a moment?”

Cullen pauses. “Yes, Herald?”

“I would like to speak to you in private, if I may,” she says.

“Of course,” he replies.

Josephine’s disappeared into her office, but Leliana stops at the door and looks over her shoulder. She raises an eyebrow. Ro’s face must do something in response, because Leliana inclines her head and shuts the door behind her.

Ro leans back against the war table in an effort to make herself seem shorter. She probably doesn’t have to do that for her companions and advisors, but the need has been ingrained into her since her first growth spurt at age ten. Cullen isn’t short for a human, but even so, he’s barely taller than her shoulders.

Ro sighs and twists her fingers together.

“Is something wrong?” Cullen asks.

“No, no,” Ro replies and waves a hand as if to dismiss the idea. “Not at all. I only--Josephine has been doing her best to paint me in a good light. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that a vashoth Herald of Andraste is hard to swallow for many people. And here I am, allying the Inquisition with mages.” Her shoulders lift in a half-hearted shrug. “You were a templar in Kirkwall during the qunari invasion and the mage uprising. I’m a mage qunari.” She offers a rueful smile. “I wanted to be sure that you don’t have a problem with me. And if you do, I hope we can address it amicably.”

Cullen blinks; a look of surprise flashes across his face. His expression schools into something more serious. “Of course not,” Cullen says. “I’ll admit, I was apprehensive at the idea of allying the Inquisition with mages, but they’ve conducted themselves well thus far. As have you.”

“I don’t foresee the mages being a problem, now that they’re out from under Magister Alexius’ thumb,” Ro says. “After what Lord Seeker Lucius did in Val Royeaux, I felt that the templars would be difficult to work with—”

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, Herald,” Cullen states.

“Thank you,” she says. “I’m grateful for your support.” She lets out a low sigh. “I feel as if most of my job is proving I’m not a monster. It’s good to know you’re not among the people I need to convince.”

Cullen’s lips curve into an approving smile. “I’m unused to mages looking to make peace with me. Most dislike me on principle.”

“I like you just fine, Commander,” she says with a returning smile. “Besides, my parents raised me not to make rash assumptions about other people. Even if they are ex-templars.”

Cullen huffs a laugh. “I’m glad to hear that, then.”

They share a moment of quiet, then Roshanak says, “Well, I planned on heading to the Hinterlands today. I better leave before it gets dark. Thank you for your time, Commander.”

“Certainly, Herald. Good luck in the Hinterlands,” he replies.

\--

Ro can smell the smoke from the fires in Haven, and her stomach roils with it. Her hands, glowing with healing magic, are slick with Chancellor Roderick’s blood. It’s fruitless, Cole said he was going to die, and Ro can’t do anything except steal away some of his pain. If she had been there when the templar stabbed him, she could’ve--Ro stops the thought, and pushes herself to her feet. Her hands leave blood smears where she wipes them on her overcoat.

Cole takes her place at Roderick’s side; he wheezes about a summer pilgrimage and escape. The riptide in Ro’s gut stills for a moment. The Inquisition might survive this.

She exchanges a few words with Cullen, but she doesn’t fully comprehend anything beyond getting to the last trebuchet.

Roshanak steps towards the Chantry entrance.

“Maybe you will find a way.” Cullen’s voice falters and stumbles over the syllables.

Ro’s lips curve into a smile. The expression wobbles at the edges before it falls. She sprints for the door.

\--

Cold numbs her limbs and sneaks into her chest to sit like a leaden ball at the base of her lungs. She doesn’t feel the pain in her dislocated shoulder, broken wrist, or in the deep scrapes along her left side. The scars on torso burn and ache--the almost horizontal lines across her upper chest have been sensitive ever since she was treated for the tumor in her breast. There’s irony in all of this, that she’s going to die out here, in this frozen wasteland, scars hurting like brands, when a mere three years ago she thought she was going to die from cancer.

There isn’t enough energy in her body for even the smallest of healing spells; her legs stumble through the snow, each step more arduous than the last. It’s very possible that they will find her frozen body sprawled on a mountainside, if they find her at all. Everything is white and grey and black, and she stopped shivering awhile ago.

Her mothers are going to be so upset. All the scrapes she’s escaped from, all the wounds and illnesses she’s weathered, and it’s the cold that will be her end. She trudges towards an abandoned campfire only yards ahead. The ashes are dead, but it’s a sign that someone was here.

She keeps struggling. It seems to be a theme in her life.

And then there’s a light--the orange haze of firelight. A sob escapes from Ro’s chest and she falls to her knees. The frozen wind steals her breath, ice settles in the far corners of her mind, but she staggers to her feet and heads towards the light.

Cullen sees her first, but Cassandra reaches her before the bulk of the search party.

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra says to herself. She wraps a hand around one of Ro’s arms to keep her steady. “Herald, are you hurt?”

“Other arm, shoulder’s fucked,” Ro slurs. “Sorry, I’m going to pass out soon.”

Cassandra’s eyes go wide. “Commander!” she shouts over her shoulder.

“Sorry,” Ro repeats, and slumps down into the snow.

\--

Cullen offers to pop Ro’s shoulder back into place. She sits on a bench, while he stands beside her, rotating her arm until it slots back into place. Before, during, and after the uncomfortable affair, Cassandra stands like a sentinel at the edge of Ro’s vision. Her arms are folded tight across her chestplate.

In front of Ro, a campfire blazes. Everyone--the rest of her companions and advisors--gathers around the point of warmth. Josephine and Dorian cast glances over their shoulders. Roshanak catches their looks and offers a small, pained smile. Cullen hands her a makeshift sling. She puts it on without complaint.

She’s not the only person from Haven who was hurt. Her magic hasn’t returned yet, and she keeps reaching for it, only to feel a fatigued emptiness in her bones. There are people she could be healing now. But her body fails her, and she must wait.

Ro turns her gaze towards the night-shrouded mountain peaks and tries to focus on the sharp silhouettes instead of the pain radiating from her shoulder. Her eyes play tricks, and make her think she can see the smoke from Haven. The smell sticks in the back of her throat.

Cullen sighs and drops down beside her on the bench--someone thought to bring the wretched thing from the Chantry. Out of all the things one could grab, Ro would never think to take something like a bench. At least they have brontos to haul things like this. Roshanak rolls her shoulder, and winces.

“Thank you,” she says. “I wouldn’t have been able to do that by myself.”

“You’re welcome, Herald,” he replies.

Cassandra stalks away to speak with Leliana in low, sharp tones.

Some of Ro’s hair escapes from the bun at the base of her skull. She can now stick it back into place, even though her shoulder aches and her wrist is immobilized in a splint, courtesy of Mother Giselle.

“Are there many songs that all humans know?” Ro wonders.

Cullen blinks, coming back from the recesses of his thoughts. “Excuse me?”

“Everyone was singing. I’ve never heard that song, but all the humans knew it,” she explains. “And most of the elves, too.”

“It’s an old Chantry song, I imagine most of us learned it as children.”

Ro nods, then laughs. “I suppose it’s only fitting that, again, I don’t know what to do when faced with a group of humans.”

“I don’t think you were meant to do anything,” he says. “All of this is rather unprecedented.”

“It’s not everyday that you survive a dragon attack, sing a hymn in the mountains, and put a qunari’s shoulder to back in place,” Ro states and flashes a grin.

His responding smile is brittle, but true. “No, I think it might be best to spread such things out over a week,” he says.

“A couple of weeks, really,” Ro replies, voice breezy.

“Do you know where we are going?” he asks.

She pauses. It still strikes her as strange that all these people look to her for guidance. The trust these people have in her is frightening. She didn’t contradict Corypheus when he said she was a mistake. He was right, but that’s about the only thing he’s right about.

“Mostly. Solas gave some direction,” she replies. “North. He thinks there might be a place for us. I think it’s worth trying.”

“We have few options.”

“Yes, but I have a feeling this is the right one.”

Cullen nods. “You haven’t led us astray yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no beta. I make a lot of typos. I'm sorry if I haven't edited them all out. (Someone be my beta?)
> 
> Also, there's a mention of healing spells/magic--Roshanak has some spirit healer training. Sure, that's not a thing in DAI, but the spirit healer specialization is perfect for Ro. More so than it is for any of my Hawkes or Wardens. 
> 
> Story title comes from [this poem](http://www.poemtree.com/poems/And-You-As-Well-Must-Die.htm) by Edna St. Vincent Millay. It that has little to do with this story, but I love it anyway.
> 
> If you want to come hang out with me on tumblr, I'm over at [dwarrows](http://www.dwarrows.tumblr.com)!
> 
> [EDIT 27 July 15]  
> Screenshots of Roshanak can be found [here](http://dwarrows.tumblr.com/post/120000023293/roshanak-adaar-the-magical-hornless-vashoth).


	2. Skyhold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how I said I wasn't going to repeat cutscenes? I kinda lied. Sort of. Semi-lied. I tried to be honest. 
> 
> But they don't repeat very much dialogue. Most of it's mine. I swear.

After Roshanak becomes Lady Inquisitor Adaar, she spends a lot more of her free time reading. A year ago, if she had been told that she would be reading more in the future, she would've been excited. There are a lot of books she hasn’t read yet, and she's long dreamed of living a life with enough leisure time to read them. This, however, is not the case. The material she’s presented with nowadays is rather dry.

Her advisors all provide her with reports about their areas of expertise. There are also endless petitions and alliances and treaties she has to sort through. For once in her life, she receives letters actually addressed to her by name. Letters that aren’t from her parents.

The novelty wears away within days. When stuck at her desk for hours, Ro’s mind wanders and her comprehension flounders. The silence and isolation of her quarters becomes too much, and doubt creeps into her head. When she’s alone for too long, she starts questioning herself and whether or not she can really hope to stand up to Corypheus. From where she is now, the hole in the sky seemed like such a minor problem. She doesn't know how to face-down a would-be god.

To escape her thoughts, she borrows a clipboard from Josephine and does her paperwork around Skyhold. Depending on the day, she can be found in the library with Dorian, at Varric’s table in the main hall, sitting with Cole on the third floor of the Rest, in the rotunda while Solas paints, or in the gardens beneath the gazebo. Roshanak concentrates best around Cole and Solas, but laughs the most with Dorian and Varric, so she does her best to balance her work with her mental wellbeing.

One chilly mid-morning, she makes her way to the garden and finds Dorian and Cullen playing chess across the way. She approaches, but hangs back to observe them banter over the board. After a moment, she leans down and whispers into Dorian’s ear. “He’s setting you up. Watch his Arishok.”

Cullen sputters an objection.

Dorian gives her a look. “What, pray tell, is the Arishok in chess?”

Ro taps the piece.

“You mean the queen?” Dorian says. His eyes narrow on the board, then his face brightens. “Ah, I see! Thank you, Adaar.” He started calling her Adaar soon after their arrival at Skyhold. In a world where she’s the Herald or the Inquisitor, it’s nice to be Adaar to someone.

“I consider that cheating,” Cullen grumbles, but his eyes are smiling.

They take a few more turns before Dorian declares, “Checkmate! I’ll admit, you did almost have me there, Commander. Luckily, our intrepid leader has a good eye.”

“Or I have an ex-tamassran for a mother, who could've been a military leader if she didn't like children so much,” Ro states.

“And to think, I didn’t have enough reasons to be terrified of you,” Dorian says with a playful smirk. He stands and pat Ro’s arm in thanks before he meanders away.

“I see you brought work with you,” Cullen says and gestures to the clipboard tucked under Ro’s arm. “I should return to my duties--unless you would care for a game?”

“You’re not going to hold it against me that I cheated?” she wonders and takes Dorian’s chair. She sets her pieces back in their starting positions.

“Not at all,” Cullen says. He, playing white, makes the opening move.

He and Ro continue to talk while they play. Cullen explains how he and his brother practiced for ages in order to beat his sister. “I’ll have to find a new strategy to outwit Dorian,” he adds as an after thought.

“I would be more than happy to help with that,” Ro tells him. “I can already imagine his expression of scandalized betrayal when he learns that I’m working for the enemy.”

Cullen chuckles. “Does this mean you’ll be working against me as well?”

“It’s likely.” Ro shrugs. “I’ll be very receptive to any bribe Dorian offers.”

“You take bribes?” Cullen raises an eyebrow.

“Only from my friends,” she replies.

Cullen chuffs in amusement. They fall into a companionable silence, and focus on their game.

After a time, Cullen says, “I think this is the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition or related matters. Honestly, I’m glad for the respite.”

“We’ve been through a lot together. It’s good that we can sit and be friends,” Ro says. “Never had many human friends, but it’s a nice change.”

“I’m sure it’s no surprise to you that I haven’t had any qunari friends until now,” Cullen states, a smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

“You mean you didn’t leave Kirkwall’s Circle to have long conversations with the Arishok over Free Marches politics?”

He snorts. “Not as such, no. I think the Champion was one of the few non-Qunari allowed in the compound.”

“Poor woman,” Ro says. “Qunari leaders aren’t known for being good conversationalists. At least that’s what my parents have inferred.”

“Have you ever considered… I was wondering if you ever wished you had been born under the Qun,” Cullen states, and his expression pinches, like he’s bracing for something.

Ro studies him for a moment before she chooses the right words. “The Qun isn’t friendly towards mages. Even so, there have been times when I imagined my life would be better in Par Vollen. In some ways, it might. But my freedom is more important to me than any other possible benefits.”

Cullen nods, and in a pensive tone, asks, “If you weren’t a mage—?”

“I would feel the same. The Qun has some interesting guidelines regarding gender and military service,” she tells him. "To be a warrior, I would have to be a man. Anyone who fights is considered a man, whether or not they think of themselves as men. Which many do, of course, but there's a limited amount of self-determination under the Qun.  I know I'm a woman. I want the ability to be both a woman and a fighter, since fighting is the thing I'm best at."

“You’re decent at chess,” he says.

Ro laughs. “You’re letting me win, serah.”

“I am not!”

“You most certainly are, the same way you let Dorian win,” she accuses. “You’re testing me. You’re a better chess player than I am, but I can still see where this is going.”

His smile is a sliver of sun in the cold Frostback air. “Do you admit defeat, then?”

Roshanak snorts. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”

He beats her in the end, though she knew he would. There’s several reasons why she’s the Inquisitor and he’s the commander of her armies. Life differs from chess, of course, but she trusts him. 

How curious her life’s become--rubbing elbows with Tevinter mages and ex-templars and princesses and heroes from all walks of life. Roshanak didn’t expect to make any friends when the Valo-Kas were hired by the Chantry. That would be a strange thing to expect. And yet, these people around her are now becoming something like family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my plan was to update this every Thursday or every-other-Thursday if I have a shit week.
> 
> But this week y'all get a new chapter because my mum's birthday is on Thursday and my brother is getting married Friday and I'm really excited about this story. It's been a long time since I've actually been excited about anything I've written. 
> 
> Once more, my bad on any typos. Also, apologies for any misrepresentation of the Qun--what I've written is what I've come to understand and I could be getting it wrong.
> 
> OH ALSO  
> qunari=the race  
> Qunari=qunari who adhere to the Qun


	3. Lyrium

Whenever Roshanak returns to Skyhold from the field, the first thing she does it call a war meeting. Her advisors give her reports and letters, and then she decides where next to extend the Inquisition’s reach. Some days the meetings are brief, a quick check to see how a negotiation is progressing, or how many new recruits arrived in the last month. Other days, Ro and the others are holed up in the war room for hours. Josephine sometimes has to call for food.

When they all emerge from those long meetings, they’re bone-tired but feel accomplished. At least, that’s how Ro feels, and she hopes her advisors are satisfied with how the Inquisition is going.

Following one such extended meeting, Roshanak notices how Cullen’s shoulders slump low, and curl forwards while he walks back to his office. His brow was  creased  for most of the meeting, but she assumed that was because of the supply lines in the Western Approach.

Ro stops by Josephine’s desk on her way out. “Josie, do you have a moment?” she asks.

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Josephine replies. “What can I do for you?”

“Did anything of note happen here while I was away?”

Josephine pauses and studies Ro for a moment. “Why do you ask?” The question is honest, and there’s a curious twist to Josephine’s expression.

Leliana decides to appear at Ro’s elbow. “She wishes to know why our commander is out-of-sorts,” she announces, and slants a smile towards Ro.

“Oh?” Josephine leans back in her chair.

“Well, yes,” Ro states. She suspects Leliana can read minds. “Is he ill? Or am I imagining things?”

Josephine shoots Leliana a rather imbued look.

“You should ask him,” Leliana says. “He’s been planning on speaking with you, but hasn’t found the right time yet. Perhaps now is the time?”

“Right,” Ro says. “I’ll go talk to him, then. Thank you.”

Josephine and Leliana fall into whispers just before Roshanak is out of earshot. She decides she too tired to care about what they’re discussing. If it’s important, she’ll learn about it sooner or later. Instead of heading straight to Cullen’s office, Roshanak returns to her quarters, changes out of her armor and wipes the travel-grime from her face. 

Josephine seems to disapprove when Ro doesn’t freshen up before war meetings, but Ro only wants to relax once all business is taken care of. She tried explaining that, but Josephine said something about decorum, and Roshanak reminded her that she’s qunari. Everyone expects her to act brutish, so they think little of it when she does. Josephine was not happy with that argument, but allowed Ro a grudging acquiescence. 

Fifteen minutes later, she emerges in a loose-fitting tunic and leggings. Her hair has been twisted back into place and a thick shawl hangs over her shoulders to ward off the cold. Usually, she takes a rather circular path through  Skyhold  to check in with all her companions, but today she heads straight to the rotunda and along the bridge that leads to Cullen’s office. She waves and calls greetings to Varric and Solas when she passes, but doesn’t linger.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen greets her when she enters. A shade of surprise colors his tone, and he sets down a sheaf of papers on his desk. “Is there something—?”

“I’m not here on official business,” Ro explains, and approaches the desk.

“Oh?”

“Are you well? You seemed distracted earlier,” she says. “I was concerned.”

He props his hands on the hilt of his sword and  sighs . “I have been meaning to speak with you about a personal matter that may affect the Inquisition. As Inquisitor, you should have known earlier, but there always seemed to be something else more important.”

“It’s fine. I’m listening now,” she says.

He nods and begins. “The life of a templar is demanding, for many reasons, but our skills are enhanced by the use of lyrium. What starts as a tool becomes a crutch and then a leash, with the Chantry at the other end,” he explains. “Over time, the lyrium addles our minds, but if a templar stops taking lyrium, the withdrawal can drive him mad as well. If he doesn’t die first.”

“The Chantry condones this?” Roshanak asks, and she can’t keep the disapproval from her tone.

His grimaces. “They say it’s an unfortunate side effect of lyrium, and that  templars  serve a greater good. We sacrifice ourselves for the safety of others.”

“If that sentiment ever placated anyone, it must certainly ring hollow now,” Ro says.

“Yes, and that’s why I have to tell you that I am no longer taking lyrium. When I joined the Inquisition, I wanted to leave everything that has to do with the Order behind me,” he states. 

“Are you alright? You said it could kill you.”

“Some days are more difficult than others. I’ve asked Cassandra to watch me, and choose a replacement should I become unfit for duty,” he says, and he stares down at his desk, jaw tight.

Ro folds her arms over her ribs, and cups her elbows in her hands. “How long has it been?”

He glances at her. “Months.”

“You’re not insane or dead yet, so I suppose that’s a good sign.”

“If it makes you feel any better, it was far worse in the beginning. Every day was bad,” he tells her.

A laugh bubbles out of Ro’s throat, but it’s devoid of amusement. “Cullen, that doesn’t make me feel better at all.”

“I’m sorry—” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“You don’t have to be. If this is something you need to do, then support your choice.”

His expression softens with relief. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

\---

Today is one of the nicer days at  Skyhold \--it’s never hot, but eddies of warm weather somehow reach the mountains. The trees in the garden bloom with riotous colors and the flowers near the gate greet newcomers with bright smells. Ro attributes the unusual vitality of Skyhold’s flora to the magic that’s seeped into the stonework here. 

Solas told her he once encountered a memory in the Fade that belonged to an elf woman who could learn the past of an object by touching it. Ro asked if ancient elves often had fantastical powers like that. Solas gave her an almost-smile and said, “No, I believe such abilities were as rare as they were remarkable.” When Roshanak walks the paths and corridors of her new home, sometimes her fingertips trace the seams of stone, and she wishes she had that Fade memory’s skill.

Roshanak leaves the tavern from the third floor after chatting with Cole and makes her way towards Cullen’s office. The side door is open; inside, Cullen looks to be reading over a report of some sort. One of his hands rubs his forehead, then the back of his neck, but the pinched look on his face doesn’t abate. 

Ro knocks on the  door jamb . “Busy?”

He looks up at her. “Inquisitor,” he intones, and gestures her inside. “Not too busy if you wish to talk.”

“I can’t stay very long. Dorian and I are headed to the Redcliffe within the hour.” Ro leans her thigh against the side of his desk, careful not to disturb any of its contents. “One of my mothers is the herbalist in our village,” she explains. “I wrote to her about your situation, with the lyrium. I didn’t name you or anything like that, but she sent me a recipe that might help with the pain and a few of the other symptoms. It might also help other  templars  here who wish to stop taking lyrium.” She pulls a folded square of paper from her pocket and hands it to him. “It’s a modified elfroot tea. Overall, a simple recipe, but she assures me it will help.”

He takes the paper, unfolds it, and looks over the contents. His expression is blank.

“I promise, I’m not trying to be presumptuous,” Ro declares. “But I admire what you’re trying to do and wanted to help.”

Cullen blinks up at her, and now there’s a stunned look on his face. “You didn’t have to,” he says. “Thank you.”

“It was no problem. I send letters home on the regular. If I didn’t my parents would hunt me down,” Ro responds and smiles. “And my healing magics can’t do much besides ease the pain, and I’m away often, so I thought I’d try another route.”

“C-Can you make this?” he asks.

Ro shrugs. “Anyone with a spot of herbalism training should be able to. I’m sure most of the mages could manage.”

He clears his throat. “I meant, would you be the one to make it? After you return from Redcliffe.” The paper crinkles between his fingers. “If you find the time.”

Roshanak smiles. “Of course. In the meantime, try chamomile or elfroot teas. Chamomile in the evenings and elfroot during the daytime. The kitchens will make some if you ask.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you.”

On an impulse, Roshanak reaches out and squeezes Cullen’s hand. “Take care of yourself while I’m gone,” she tells him.

A pink flush colors his cheeks. He nods and says, voice soft,  “ You, too. ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws update schedule out the window*
> 
> Whew, I feel better now. I still plan on updating each week/every other week, but who knows what day it'll be???
> 
> You may have noticed that I plan on having 17 chapters. This may be subject to change. But probably not.
> 
> Anyway, come hang out with me on tumblr. I'm over at [dwarrows](http://dwarrows.tumblr.com).


	4. Herbalism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've lifted the term 'vashothari' from tumblr user [ialpiriel](http://ialpiriel.tumblr.com). Basically, it means qunari who are Vashoth and Tal-Vashoth. Ari means people, so the translation is Grey People, and I just love that term for all non-Qun qunari.
> 
> I apologize in advance for any weird punctuation--I've moved most of my writing onto OneNote for ease of use and when I copy/paste from there, the format gets weird and there's spaces where there aren't meant to be any. I'll fix it eventually, but I don't have the spoons today.

Roshanak and Dorian go to Redcliffe, where they meet his father. Then, they go back into the Hinterlands and kill some Venatori because they’re both upset, and Dorian doesn’t want to talk yet. Ro gathers supplies for Cullen’s tea between fights. Dorian looks like he wants to ask, but he’s too committed to brooding in silence. And he’s entitled to that brooding, if Ro understands what happened with his father correctly.

And because Ro tries to be a good friend, she tells Dorian what she’s doing. He responds with a short nod, then points out some royal elfroot that Ro was too tall to spot. Having human friends can be helpful, Ro's learned.

They talk on the journey back home, which takes a few days on horseback. Roshanak wants to hug Dorian, but she doesn’t know if he’d appreciate it. Instead, she says that he’s very brave, because it’s true. She offers to adopt him into her family because her parents always wanted a son and she’d like a brother. Dorian laughs, and wonders what it would be like to be raised by an ex-tamassran, but he doesn’t outright reject the offer.

When they return to Skyhold, the sky is raven-black and dotted with stars. Dorian heads off to the tavern to drink himself into a stupor. Ro says she’ll check on him in the morning. He waves her off, but in a way that tells Ro he appreciates the offer and he expects her to follow through. Ro gets the impression that he likes to indulge her.

It’s too late to call a war meeting, or to talk to anyone else that hasn’t ensconced themselves in the tavern. So, Roshanak begins the long, stair-filled trek to her quarters.

She manages to pull off her clothes before she topples into bed.

In the morning, the sun wakes her. She groans in protest, but the sun doesn’t stop shining and she forces herself to face the day. She shuffles into casual clothes, throws a thick shawl over her shoulders, and plods down to breakfast in the main hall. Most of her friends and companions have already gathered, save Cole, Dorian, and Iron Bull. In an act that could only be from the Maker, there are no visiting dignitaries sharing the meal. Roshanak can scowl into her tea and toast and eggs with as much vitriol as she likes and Josephine can’t tell her off.

“Morning,” she grumbles to everyone seated. There’s a smattered chorus of similar replies.

“I wasn’t aware that you had returned,” Cassandra states when Ro slumps into the open seat next to her.

“Rough night, Inquisitor?” Varric asks from down the table.

Ro glowers  at his smirk. “If you’re thinking I’m hungover, I’m not.”

“‘Course you’re not,” Sera chimes in. “Weren’t in the tavern last night. Unless you got a stash in your room.” The idea seems to intrigue her.

“I don’t. Josie wouldn’t let me,” Ro says.

“That’s not true,” Josephine protests. 

Leliana makes a sound that can only be described as a delicate snort.

Cullen clears his throat. “I trust your trip to Redcliffe was successful?”

Ro nods, and gives him a bleary smile. “About as successful as it could’ve been, but it’s not my story to tell.”

Afterwards, Ro calls a war meeting, and following that she ventures to Dorian’s room to make sure he isn’t dead or dying. He is, however, cranky and doesn’t look like he’s going to get out of bed anytime soon. Ro sets a plate of buttered toast and a cup of tea on his bedside table. He mutters a thanks before she leaves.

Deep in her heart, she wishes she had the words to help; she wishes she knew what exactly to say to Dorian to make him feel like he doesn't need to drink in order to feel better. For all her healing abilities, she can't even hope to touch some hurts. 

She heaves a sigh and makes her usual rounds, checking on her other friends, and even spares a moment to dangle a string in front of one of the kittens in the barn. Then she heads up to the library to make Cullen's tea.

There's a corner in the library dedicated to herbalism--the tranquil who researches items from the field uses it more than anyone else, but Ro's seen Dorian and Fiona use the tools there as well. Whomever bought the tools themselves knew what they were doing; everything is of the finest quality. The knives and measuring spoons are direct from Orzammar, the glassware was blown in Tevinter, the mortar and pestle made out of white Orlesian marble, and the scales are of silver, enchanted to never tarnish.  Roshanak would love to abandon her duties as Inquisitor and devote all her time to making various potions and tinctures.

When she's finished, she has nearly five pounds of loose tea mix in a huge glass jar. Perhaps that's overkill, but Ro doesn't know when she'll next have the time to sit in the library, cutting dried plants and crushing dried plants, and dousing all of that with different types of concentrator agents.

It's approaching noon when she enters Cullen’s office.

“Inquisitor.”

“Commander,” she replies and sets the jar of tea on his desk. “I mixed up that remedy for you. I was wondering if you'd like to join me for lunch, and then afterwards I can show how to brew it properly.”

"Um, yes," he says. "That would be--I'd like that. Thank you."

Ro smiles.  “Meet me outside my quarters in half an hour or so?”

“Of course,” he says.

\---

Roshanak arrives at her door first. Under one of her arms is the jar of tea. Hooked on her elbow is a basket brimming with simple foodstuffs--breads, cheeses, smoked meats, apples, and a bottle of wine. The head cook looked upset when Ro explained she wanted to carry the food herself, but she said please and his frown crumbled.

Cullen joins her a moment later. He gestures at the baskets and asks, "May I?" 

Roshanak nods and he takes the basket. She smiles her thanks.

“I’ve never actually been to this part of Skyhold,” Cullen remarks while they approach her room. He eyes a hole in the wall, and the crows that roost there.

“Oh?”

“Leliana and Josephine were responsible for your quarters, and thought it important to furnish it properly. I had no opinion on the matter, so I left it to them.”

“You mean you’re not a military commander  and  an interior decorator?” Ro asks, and rounds on him with a dramatic gasp.

He chuckles. “Unfortunately my talents don’t lie in the artistic.”

Ro pats his armored shoulder. “Neither are mine.”

In her quarters, they sit on opposite sides of the desk. Cullen helps take out plates and cups for the wine and they pick at the food with their fingers and chat.

Roshanak gestures at the tea. "I'll write down instruction for how to make this. I can promise you it'll taste terrible--there’s elfroot, royal elfroot, Crystal Grace, some Andraste’s grace, and hypericum,” she says. "And some ginger, but I don't know if that helps or hurts. My mother says to drink it on a full stomach to avoid nausea." 

“Hypericum?”

“Ah, that’s the  Tevene  name for goatsweed,” Ro says. 

“I can’t say I’ve heard of that, either.”

“It’s not common this far south, though I’ve been able to grow some in the gardens,” Ro explains. “A few of the children here like the flowers, so I had to put up a sign asking for them to please not pick the flowers, the Inquisitor said so.”

Cullen smiles. “Have they listened?”

“In case you didn’t get the missive, I am very intimidating and scary,” Ro declares. “Of course they listened. After I let them pick some of my sunflowers and marigolds.”

“I didn’t know that you both accepted and made bribes,” Cullen says with dry amusement.

“Most of the children and I have met in the stables, looking at the kittens there. Once you see someone coo over a ball of fur, they stop being frightening,” she reasons. “Also, I may or may not pinch sweets from the kitchens for them.”

“I’ve received a few reports about stolen food. Leliana told me not to bother with looking into them. So, you’re responsible, then?”

“Or Sera. Or Cole. We’re all guilty when it comes to taking food from the kitchens.”

“I’ve heard that Cole doesn’t eat,” Cullen says.

“No, but he likes delivering food to people who are craving something in particular,” Ro says. “Brought me a loaf of bread once when I was up late reading a convoluted missive from some Orlesian count.”

Cullen frowns into his cup. “You didn’t find that… intrusive?”

“I was very hungry,” Ro replies. “Even if I hadn’t been, I know he means well.”

“You don’t mind when he can hear your thoughts? Know your memories, no matter what they are?” he wonders.

“It was unnerving at first, yes, but he told me once that I’m more difficult to hear,” she says. “The anchor makes it--how did he put it? Like looking at birds flying against the sun.”

Cullen sets down his cup and looks hard at Ro. “How do you feel about that?”

Ro wipes her hands on a napkin leans back in her chair. “It’s a little lonely, to be honest. Frightening, too. I don’t much care for the idea that the mark eclipses me, that it’s more than I am.”

“If it was more than you are, I don’t think you would have survived receiving it,” Cullen says, voice low. “Here," he says and passes her a jar of jam. "I think this is from Ferelden."

“Oh, thank you,” Ro says. The jam is just the right amount of sweet and sour. She loves it.

“I’m sorry, but you mentioned your parents and said ‘one of your mothers’ is an herbalist.” Cullen asks, “You have more than one mother?”

Ro licks a bit of jam from her thumb. “Yes. I have two mothers. Possibly three if you count the woman who taught me my magic, though I suppose  Matriel  is more of an aunt than a mother. My mother Rani, the herbalist, was once a rebel in Seheron. My other mother is the once-tamassran I've mentioned before. Her name is Issra. Ask me how they met sometime, it’s an interesting story. They tell it on my birthday each year.”

Cullen’s brow pinches inwards for a moment and he says, “I don’t actually know much about you or your life before the Conclave.”

“I’m an open book,” she says. “I know I don’t often talk about my past--where I'm from, everyone knows everyone's stories. But I don’t mind sharing when I’m with someone I trust.”

He blinks at that. “I’m glad that I’ve earned that trust, Inquisitor.”

“Roshanak,” she corrects. “In my own room, I don't want to be Inquisitor. And if Roshanak or Ro is too informal for you, Adaar will do.”

“Dorian calls you  Adaar .”

“Yes, because we both get a kick out of being friends. The son of a magister and a qunari mage? How rebellious!” She grins. “I do like him as a person, but I think we first became friends because we knew the rest of Thedas would be against it.”

Cullen gives her a small, slanting smile. “I have a feeling that’s how you make many of your friends.”

She hooks one of her elbows on the back of her chair and smirks. “What, I make friends to spite the world? Absolutely. Look at us, for example. An ex-templar from Kirkwall and a mercenary qunari mage working together in the name of Andraste? Scandalous. Frankly, all my relations in the Inquisition are unconventional. I’ve never been so surrounded by people who are shorter than me.”

“Well, I’ve never met a woman who is as tall as you,” he counters.

“You should see me in heels.”

Cullen snorts.

“I have a query,” Ro says.

“Yes?”

“It’s a rather obscure query, but there’s no time like the present,” Ro says. “I was wondering--you said you were in Ferelden during the Blight. Did you happen to cross paths with the Hero of Ferelden? She had a qunari companion. He was hornless. Did you ever see him?”

Cullen raises an eyebrow. “No, I never saw any qunari in Ferelden during the Blight.”

“Ah, well,” Ro sighs. "I asked Leliana, and she told me to go read a book."

“Why do you ask?”

She points at herself, flashes a rueful grin. “I happen to be a hornless qunari. We’re very unusual, and it's a common held belief that hornless qunari are destined to do something important. I’m always interested in what others like me are up to.”

Cullen makes a sound of acknowledgement. “It’s not a source of ridicule among qunari?”

“Not as such. Many Ben-Hassrath are hornless, so there are times when I’ve been treated with suspicion by other vashothari. Usually that suspicion falls away when they realize I’m a mage,” she explains. “But then they’re suspicious of my magic, which is a little bit better than them thinking I’m a spy.”

“Was that difficult for your parents? You being a mage, I mean,” Cullen asks. He leans forward in his chair, and his head tilts a little to the side.

“For  Issra , yes, since the  Qun  was more ingrained into her. Rani knew plenty of mages in Seheron and was more worried about me being taken away or killed than she was about my magic,” Ro says.

“Your mother, the herbalist--she treats humans as well as qunari?”

“Rani treats all sorts. Dwarves and elves, too. Farm animals. Even a few mabari that came north with their owners during the Blight. My home village is mostly vashothari, but there were others, too. It was a good place to grow up.”

“You’re not—” he pauses, restarts. “I didn’t know what to expect when we first met. Admittedly, I was wary of you, but you’re very different from what I imagined.”

“Is that a compliment?” Ro blinks in surprise.

“No. I mean, yes! Maker’s breath, it’s a good thing,” he stutters and rubs the back of his neck. “You-You’re a good thing. Person. A good person.”

Roshanak studies him for a moment. He’s blushing, all pink high on his cheeks. She catches his gaze, and feels her own face heat. “Thank you.”

Cullen ducks his head, clears his throat.

“Did the chamomile help while I was gone?” she asks and hands the jam back to him.

“Some. I believe I slept easier,” he replies.

“I suppose that’s better than nothing. Keep with it,” she suggests.

“I will.”

“You know, this recipe my mother sent can also be changed into a poultice to treat painful or sensitive scares,” she muses. “I should give the  recipe  to Skyhold's herbalist.”

“There are plenty of us with scars,” Cullen states, and gestures to the thin scar on his lip.

“May I ask how you got that one? It’s rather rakish,” she says.

He huffs a laugh, but then sobers. “During the mage uprising in Kirkwall. I don’t think any of us who survived did so without injuries.”

“I have huge scars on my chest,” Ro blurts, and a cold wave of dread washes over her. She shouldn’t have said anything, shouldn’t have mentioned scars in the first place. She covers her eyes with her hand and groans, "I shouldn't have said that."

Cullen asks, equal parts cautious and bewildered, “What’s happened? Were you injured?”

“Shit,” she chokes, and pushes herself to her feet. She gestures for him to follow her onto the balcony. She leans her elbows on the railing. Her shoulders cave inwards. She turns to look at Cullen. “I don’t tell people about this. At all.”

Cullen swallows. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Roshanak, but there are plenty of people here who would willingly listen,” he says, voice low. “The people in Skyhold would want to help, if something’s amiss.”

“I’m not in trouble or anything like that,” she explains. “I suppose--it’s a delicate topic.  People treat me differently afterwards.”

“To be frank, that’s a large part of the reason why I didn’t tell you about the lyrium for so long,” he says. “Yet, here you are, doing what you can to help. I’m grateful that you haven’t doubted me, or distrusted my dedication to the Inquisition.”

“I would be foolish if I did. Anyone can see you’re doing all you can for our cause,” Ro states. She takes a deep breath, and lets it out in a deep sigh. It’s difficult to meet his gaze, so she stares out at the mountains. 

“The scars are from… My mentor,  Matriel \--she’s also my family’s physician. She discovered a growth, a tumor in one of my breasts. I thought I was too young to have any disease like cancer, but I was wrong. To save my life, she had to remove my breasts. Apparently the procedure is common in Tevinter and Par Vollen, and she has friends there who recommended it. So, I have these scars.” Roshanak traces on her shirt where her scars are. “But I’m alive, which is more important.”

“It is,” he agrees. “Do the scars hurt?”

“When it’s cold, or I’ve worn my armor for too long,” she says. “It’s only been two years. They’ll get better with more time.”

“You’re healthy now, though,” he presses. “You won’t become ill again?”

“It’s always a possibility, but hopefully no since all the tissue was removed. I visit home periodically to get checked, and everything is fine now,” Ro says.

He lets out a breath. “Maker, that’s good to hear.”

“Well, now you know more about me than you likely ever wanted to,” she says with a smile.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he mumbles.

Ro pushes away from the railing. “Regardless, I already said I trust you, so it's fine that you know. You ready for that tea?”

He smiles at her, and replies with a soft, “Yes.”

\---   


"My mother suggest you not drink more than three cups a day," she tells him, and mixes a spoonful of honey into the mug. "There's a lot of elfroot in this, and combined with the hypericum, it can cause stomach cramps."

He makes a face after his first sip. "Maker, that's foul," he coughs.

"Drink it all in one go," Ro recommends and tries to hide her amusement. "Hopefully you'll get used to it."

"I'll have to," he says and downs the cup's contents. He makes another face and a giggle bubbles out of Roshanak. Cullen glares, but it's without heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by my total lack of knowledge regarding herbalism. Like, I'm American, raised by a white suburban mom and a Catholic Indian dad--I was never exposed to herbal remedies or alternative medicine growing up. I think the closest I ever came to that was when my dad gave me fennel to chew on when I had a stomach ache. 
> 
> I'm not completely uncivilized when it comes to tea--I have a kettle and never microwave my water and you gotta add the milk and sugar after steeping, but the last time I used any sort of loose leaf tea, I was maybe sixteen or seventeen and very much a weaboo who thought loose leaf tea was more Japanese than bagged tea.
> 
> It was 2008, aka the Anime Renaissance. Can you blame me??


	5. Interim

One evening, Roshanak makes her rounds and when she reaches the rookery, Leliana informs her that agents have been sent to the Free Marches. Ro asks why, and Leliana explains that someone should keep an eye on Ro’s parents, since they could become targets. Ro’s frustrated that such a thing never occurred to her, but she knows why it didn’t--she’s never been important enough to become a danger to her parents. 

She thanks Leliana.

“Don’t thank me,” Leliana intones. “It was Cullen who brought the matter to my attention.” A coy, playful light enters her eyes. “I told him I have contacts in Hercinia, but he insisted I place agents in your home village.”

Roshanak says, “Oh.” She can feel the heat blooming in her cheeks, and her stomach flutters.

“He also requested that I not mention it to you,” Leliana adds. The curl at the corner of her mouth grows into a real smile.

“Why?” Roshanak wonders.

“Perhaps he did not want to appear overbearing,” Leliana suggests. She turns her attention to some papers on her desk. In a distracted tone--which Ro doesn’t believe for a minute--she says, “Or he did not wish you to know how often he thinks of you.”

Roshanak gapes, then snaps her mouth shut so she doesn’t look like a fish. “Sorry, what?”

Leliana shrugs. “You and the commander have become friends, yes? An unexpected pairing, but I’ve seen stranger.”

“Right,” Roshanak says, absently. She wanders back down the stairs to the library, and hears Leliana smother a gauzy laugh.

Ro never gets around to discussing the conversation with Cullen. But whenever she thinks about it, her chest aches a little. It’s a good ache, one that makes her feel giddy in a way the Inquisitor shouldn’t. She likes feeling giddy. It reminds her that she’s still herself.

\---

“I heard that you’ve begun training as a Knight Enchanter,” Cullen says. They’re in the Herald’s Rest, tucked into a quieter corner on the second floor. Earlier in the day, they had to face a horde of simpering, dithering nobles, and Roshanak suggested they should take a break. Luckily, today is a good day for Cullen, so he doesn't have to hole himself up in his room with Ro's tea, and it's  early enough in the evening for the tavern to be relatively calm--they can speak in their normal voices and still hear one another.

Ro’s cup is empty, so she plucks Cullen’s cup from his hand and takes a sip. “Yes, that’s true. I already have some healing abilities, so choosing a more offensive type of magic sounded like a good idea. The Knight Enchanter school of magic is also supportive. I’m not completely outside my comfort zone.”

His eyes flicker to her, and his mug, but he doesn’t object. “There weren't any Knight Enchanters in the Gallows, and only one or two in Kinloch Hold. I have limited experience in this field. Does being a healer help with your Knight Enchanter training?”

Her face brightens. “Oh, absolutely. The Fade and spirits are tied closely with healing and with the protective aspects of being a Knight Enchanter. I’ve always had an affinity for spirits, especially those of compassion and valor. It seemed natural for me to train in that area.” 

“I read that there aren’t qunari in the Fade,” Cullen comments. “And that you don’t dream the same way humans and elves do.”

Ro shrugs. “I wouldn’t know, honestly. I do dream, but I have nothing to compare that to. Maybe qunari inhabit a different part of the Fade? Has Leliana told you that I’ve been through a Harrowing?”

“What?” he sputters.

“Leliana seems to know everything about me,” she says. “I thought she might have passed some of that information to you.” She hands Cullen’s cup back to him.

Cullen shakes his head, and stares at Ro. He takes a quick drink. “I doubt she would volunteer your life story to others,” he says, and looks down at the table. “I wasn’t aware you had Circle training. I assumed that there are no qunari mages in the Circles.”

“Oh, no, I’m sure there aren’t. My mentor was Circle-trained,” Ro clarifies. “She told me about the Harrowing, and I wanted to test myself.”

He gives her a puzzled look. “The Harrowing is one of the grievances many mages have against the Circles. It’s not at all pleasant, from what I’ve been told. I attended several Harrowings, and even when it went well, it was nerve-wracking.”

Ro frowns. “Unpleasant is definitely an apt word. But I’m glad I went through it.”

“May I ask why?”

“I wanted to prove that I was just as skilled as any traditionally-trained mage,” Ro says. “As a child and adolescent, I thought that Circles were the only comprehensive, ‘real’ places to learn magic. It was either be caged in a Circle or leashed like a saarebas. My mothers first arranged for a Vashoth saarebas to teach me, but I wanted a Circle education. That education has served me well, no doubt, but now I understand that there are many different avenues a mage can take to harness and control their powers.”

“The Chantry would disagree with you,” he says.

“They disagree with many things. Do you?”

“Um.” He reddens, coughs into his fist. In a careful voice, he says, “I-I would be remiss to discount the experiences of the mages here that haven’t received a traditional education, you included. I've seen you in a fight.”

Ro suppresses a smile. “How diplomatic of you. Should I let Josie know you’re aiming to take over her position?”

“Sweet Maker, no.  No.  Absolutely not. I merely know better about mages now than I did when I left Ferelden. You, Dorian, and Solas all were educated outside of the southern Circles,” he says. “The non-traditional mages in the Inquisition have proven to be incredibly disciplined, not to mention helpful. It’s good you’re on our side.”

“We’ll see how good it is at the Winter Palace,” Ro muses. “Josie and Leliana have both warned me of the Game’s pitfalls. My being a non-Circle mage might be a great detriment to us. That is, if being a qunari isn’t enough of a problem.”

“Preventing the assassin from succeeding is more important than-than wooing the court,” Cullen says, distaste in his tone. His nose scrunches up to reinforce how much he’s not looking forward to the ball. 

“If it’s any consolation, chances are everyone will ignore you in order to stare at the ox-woman in a dress,” Ro jokes.

Cullen’s irritation intensifies. “I don’t like the idea of those  _ Orlesians _  treating you poorly,” he announces.

“I wish I could say I was used to it,” she admits. "In Halamshiral, I’ll have friends with me. That will make it easier.”

Cullen buys their next round of drinks. They both leave the tavern feeling a little fuzzy around the edges, but calm and contented. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter! But the next one's pretty long, so there's that.
> 
> Come party with me over on tumblr! I'm at [dwarrows](http://dwarrows.tumblr.com).


	6. Halamshiral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the dress that inspired this chapter:[ just imagine it in black and red](http://www.krikorjabotian.com/wp-content/uploads/97.jpg).

The last time Roshanak wore a gown, she was a foot and a half shorter and still had grand schemes of being an adventurer. It was years before Matriel found the tumorous growth in Roshanak’s breast. Frankly, the last time Ro wore a dress she was too young to even have breasts. It shouldn’t be so different now, she tells herself even though she knows it’s a silly, fruitless thought. 

The light armor she wears in the field has layers, and doesn’t advertise the shape of her body. She likes her light armor. It keeps her warm and stops arrows from killing her.

The dress she wears to the Winter Palace has neither of those advantages. Vivienne had it made for Ro, by her favorite seamstress in Val Royeaux. It’s a floor-length gown, sleeveless, with a bateau neckline. The base of the dress is onyx black, and overlaid on the base like a second skin is a sheer carmine red fabric adorned with complex beading. Overall, the silhouette of the gown is less dramatic than other Orlesian finery--it still tapers at Ro’s hips and flares outwards, but her height would make anything wider look comical.

“Everyone is going to stare at me,” Ro bemoans when she first tries on the dress.

Vivienne scoffs. She steps around Ro, looking at her from all angles. She hands Ro a pair of black, elbow-length gloves.

It unnerves Ro to have Vivienne in her room. Except for Cole, Cullen, and Dorian, none of her other companions have been in her room, and she's close friends with those three. A strange voice at the back of her head complains about people invading her space. Roshanak  respects Vivienne immensely, and admires her for her skills both on and off the battlefield. But Vivienne supports the Circles, and Ro's always feared being locked up. Surely, though, that's not enough to throw her off. Ro chalks her discomfort up to the stress of the upcoming ball.

Madame de Fer’s expression is pure calculation. “Of course they’re going to stare, my dear. Give them something worth looking at.”

To be worth looking at, Ro has to do more than just wear a fancy dress. They arrive in Halamshiral a day before the masquerade. The day of, Vivienne hires a team of stylists to attend to Ro. Her hair, normally kept back in a tight bun, is let loose in all its wild, curly glory. Someone applies various creams and colors to Ro’s face. Her finger and toenails are painted, even though she’s wearing close-toed shoes and gloves. She’s adorned with gold jewelry. She hasn't worn earrings in years, and it feels strange to feel the ornate hoops brush against her skin when she turns her head.   

The end result has its effect, however. Roshanak looks like a fierce creature, all red and black and golden. That she doesn’t have much of a chest isn’t highlighted or hidden. In the mirror, she’s both warrior and goddess and it’s ridiculous. A giggle bubbles up her throat. She wants to cover her mouth, but she’d get makeup on her gloves.

“Hush, darling,” Vivienne says, polished tones commanding Ro’s silence. “Being manic won’t endear you to the court.”

As Ro predicted, everyone at the Winter Palace stares, and she wishes she wasn’t so very, very large. Both Dorian and Vivienne assured her beforehand that she looks fine. So, she squares her shoulders and wades into the madness.

Inside the palace, Roshanak keeps her eyes and ears open and checks on her companions.

“Wow, boss, you look smokin’ hot,” Iron Bull comments when she approaches him.

“Thanks, Bull,” Ro says and rolls her eyes.

“No, really, I mean it,” he presses. “You look great tonight.”

“As opposed to how I normally look?”

“Nah, you’re always hot, but that dress--” He lets out a low, appreciative whistle. 

“Let’s hope it helps in winning the hearts and minds of the court,” Ro says with a great sigh.

“It will,” he says, and grins.

\---

In the ballroom, Cullen has a following of men and women, all fawning and flirting in his direction. He looks very handsome in the formal attire everyone in the Inquisition, except Ro, is wearing tonight. Roshanak approaches and has a joke ready about Cullen’s new fans. The words shrivel on her tongue when she notices how tense he is. A degree of anxiety makes sense, since they’re here to find an assassin and stop Orlais from falling to pieces, but the way Cullen's neck flushes and eye dart make Ro reconsider her greeting. His ‘fans’ have a predatory feel to them, circled around him like vultures or wolves.

Ro leans down close to his ear and asks in a soft voice, “Do you need a momentary escape?”

He blinks up at her. “I--ah, if you have one planned, I wouldn’t object,” he admits.

Ro straightens and addresses the gaggle of people hovering nearby. “Terribly sorry, my lords and ladies, but I must have a private word with my commander.” She plasters on a simpering, apologetic smile and inclines her head.

She takes Cullen's hand and pulls him out of the ballroom, through the vestibule, and down into the Hall of Heroes. Apparently Orlesians like having statues, but not appreciating them. The only people nearby are the servant elves at the far end of the upper level. They glare at Ro and Cullen, and then turn back to their whisperings. Ro lifts the hem of her gown to trot down the stairs. At the second-to-last step, she sits and thinks about taking off the heels Vivienne forced her to wear.

Cullen breathes a sigh. “Thank you, Inquisitor,” he says. He casts a quick look around and sits beside her. 

Away from the speculative eyes of the court, Roshanak can take a moment to really look at Cullen. He mentioned earlier in the evening about needing his coat let out, but Ro doesn’t agree. Now that he’s out of his ever-present armor, Roshanak can appreciate the difference between Cullen now, and the Cullen she met in Haven. A certain gauntness and pallor marked him during those early days. Now, he looks healthy, whole. Taking him away from the Orlesian buzzards has also removed the cramped expression on his face.

“You looked uncomfortable,” she states. “Thought I could do you a favor.”

“I’ll have to go back eventually, but it’s good to get a respite.” He smiles, but it’s a tired, wan thing. 

“Speaking of uncomfortable,” Ro gripes and loses the war against her shoes. She pulls them off and sighs with relief. She stretches her toes out, and wiggles them to get the circulation back.

“Not the most practical,” Cullen comments with a small cough.

“Are you laughing at me, Cullen?” Ro accuses. “You’re laughing at me.”

He can’t fully hide his honest grin. “No, not at all. I wouldn’t. You look very striking tonight.”

“Striking?”

“Of course. You’re hard to miss on a normal day, but tonight—” he stops and breathes an almost-sigh. “I’m certain you know how you look without my inept poetics.”

“Bull said I’m ‘smoking hot’ and I’m taking his word for it.”

Cullen chokes, and looks at Ro with a startled expression. She strikes a pose--mimics one of those statues of Maferath that seem to be everywhere in Orlais--and Cullen starts laughing. Ro breaks her pose when she can’t hold in her laughter any longer.

Once they get their breaths back, Ro says, “I’m wondering if I could get away with going barefoot.” She pokes her toes out from the hem of her dress and flexes them again. “That might be more poetic than yours and Iron Bull’s efforts combined. Also very elven.”

“Surely that would cause some sort of scandal,” Cullen drawls.

Ro smirks, and it feels sharp. “Josephine would have my head.”

“If the Orlesians didn’t get it first. Have you always been a trouble-maker?” he asks in earnest.

She beams. “Somewhat, yes. I was a wild child. My parents had a difficult time keeping me out of trees.”

“I was prone to wandering, myself,” Cullen states. “Though I was fearful of heights as a child, so I never climbed trees.”

“Never?”

“Once, and that was when I discovered my fear,” he tells her.

Roshanak snorts, and Cullen rubs the back of his neck, his face all red. She bumps her shoulder against his.

“Will you save a dance for me, if this whole evening doesn’t go pear-shaped?” she asks.

Cullen shake his head, but it's an apologetic action. “I’m not much of a dancer. The templars never attended balls.”

“I guess Dorian and Josephine will have to indulge me, then,” Ro says.

“They’re far better suited, I think.”

Roshanak slips her shoes back on. “We’ve probably spent too much time away from the chaos,” she says and stands. “Back into the fray.”

She offers Cullen a hand to pull him to his feet. He takes it and murmurs his thanks. When they’re both standing, she doesn’t let go of his hand right away. Instead, she lifts it and kisses his knuckles. She can feel the warmth of his skin through his gloves. Cullen's breath catches.  Before either of them can say or do anything more, Ro darts up the stairs and returns to the ballroom. Hopefully, the nobles in the room don’t know her well enough to notice how flustered she is.

Leliana, Josephine, and Dorian notice, however. That’s bad enough.

\---

By the end of the evening, Ro regrets that her dress is torn and bloody. Most of the blood isn’t hers, but she’s not sure if that makes the situation better or worse. She has to wear her armor while negotiating with Celene, Gaspard, and Briala--she’s glad for that, though. No matter how lovely she looks in the gown, it will never feel as right as her leathers.

The three leaders agree to work together, and Ro knows it won’t be as easy as that. Her idealism shines through, despite everything, and she trusts that the Inquisition can handle whatever comes of the alliance with Orlais.

She dances with Dorian and Josephine, and even cajoles Cole into trying a few sips of the drinks being circulated by the servants. Leliana declines Ro's invitation to dance, but she promises to make it up to Ro. 

The ballroom is warm, almost too warm for Ro, and she wanders out onto an empty balcony. Soon, Morrigan follows and tells Ro she will be joining the Inquisition. Despite Leliana’s warnings, Roshanak is more than happy to accept another ally into the fold. Morrigan likely has ulterior motives, but Ro figures it’s best to keep her close.

She drops down onto a bench, and looks out over the Waking Sea. Her fingers twist together, folding and unfolding. She picks at the blood underneath her nails, and wants to go home. The Winter Palace is beautiful beyond measure, and playing the Game has been exhilarating, but now she just wants to go home. Skyhold or her home village near Hercinia. Either would do, but there’s a longing in her heart for the farmhouse she was born in, where she doesn’t have to watch her every move, doesn’t have to look over her shoulder or wonder what hides in the shadows.

Someone touches her arm. She startles, lets out a high-pitched noise and nearly falls off the bench.

It’s Cullen--he looks both amused and mortified. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to—”

“Andraste’s arse, Cullen!” Ro sputters, hand pressed to her heart. “There go ten years off my life.”

“I hope not,” he says, with a sincerity that makes Ro smile.

She heaves a sigh. “What brings you out here?” she wonders, and scoots over so Cullen has room to sit.

He stays standing and looks at her, eyes dark and almost wistful. For once, he doesn’t have to crane his neck up to meet her gaze. He offers an almost smile and brushes his thumb against her cheekbone in a fleeting caress.   


He admits, “I was worried for you tonight.” 

“Sit with me?” she wonders.

He does, and they both reach for one another's hands. Their knees touch. Ro watches the way his thumbs sweep back and forth against the backs of her knuckles. Her hands are so much bigger than his, but that doesn’t seem to bother him.

"How are you?" Cullen asks.   

“I’m exhausted, and I wish those elves weren't killed,” she says. "But we succeeded."

“I never doubted you,” he murmurs. “But I still fear for your safety.”

“How are you?” She turns the question around. His eyes are bright and his face is relaxed, but she doesn’t want to assume.

“Tired, as you said.” He smiles, though. “Pleased with how the evening concluded.”

It takes a little contorting, but she manages to rest her head against his shoulder. Cullen wraps an arm around her shoulders. Idle fingers play with the ends of her hair. His cheek presses against the top of her head. Ro takes a deep breath, and when she exhales, she lets out all the tension in her body.   


Cullen clears his throat. "Is your invitation to dance still open?"   


Roshanak sits up. "Yes!" she says, a little too loudly.

Cullen grins, and tugs her to her feet. Neither of them really know what they're doing, but there's low music filtering in from the ballroom, and they twirl in slow circles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're ever curious about the music I listen to while writing, wonder no more! I switch between [the 2005 Pride and Prejudice soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u4DZPemB4uI) and [Max Richter's recomposition of Vivaldi's Four Seasons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8oYWfJuMGMA).
> 
> I have a Roshanak playlist, but that's more like... part of character development and doesn't help when I'm actually writing.


	7. Hawke

Ro wants to have a talk with Cullen after everything that happened at the Winter Palace--the dance, the way their fingers looped together, the general feeling of closeness--but upon her return to Skyhold, a world of work falls to her shoulders. If she isn’t bogged down with treaties and other official-looking papers, she’s in the field killing undead, demons, and other nasty things.

 

More importantly, there are mind-controlled  Grey  Wardens in the Approach, with Corypheus pulling their strings. Even if Elspeth Hawke wasn’t able to kill Corypheus the last time they crossed paths, Ro’s glad to have the Champion of Kirkwall on her side. 

Honestly, Ro adores Hawke. She’s brilliant and lovely. Not to mention beautiful, which doesn’t matter in the grand scheme, but Ro has eyes. Ro’s upset that Varric’s book doesn't completely cover how wonderful Hawke is.

When she brings this up to Varric, he says, “Keep in mind that Kirkwall isn’t the kind of place that brings out the best in people.”

_ Tale of the Champion _  exhibits Hawke’s heroics and her ability to make the best out of most situations, but all book characters seem to do that. Ro didn’t expect she’d want to buy Hawke a round of drinks in the tavern and play wicked grace with her and Varric until long after dark.

Hawke’s the kind of person one buys drinks for, Ro reasons. Half the Valo-Kas are like that--hardened to how the world is but also willing to light things on fire for a laugh. In Hawke’s case, she can actually set things on fire. Maybe that’s another reason why Roshanak likes her--Hawke knows what it’s like to grow up as an apostate.

Also, Hawke is like Krem and like Ro's mother Issra--aqun-athlok. Roshanak isn't aqun-athlok, but she admires and respects the people who are. It may not be a big deal in Par Vollen; aqun-athlokari are accepted without question--but it's different in the south, more difficult.

The only reason why Roshanak knows about Hawke is because they were swapping stories and Hawke asked how Roshanak managed to acquire two mothers, and if she was adopted. Roshanak explained that, no, both of her mothers are her blood parents and her mother Issra is aqun-athlok. To Ro's surprise, Hawke was familiar with the phrase, but she wanted to hear more about Issra's life under the Qun.   


Roshanak doesn’t spend as much time as she’d like with Hawke--both of them are busy investigating the Wardens and trying not to die. Besides, it’s Cullen she usually goes to see when her duties don’t engulf her waking moments.

It’s nearly a month after the Winter Palace when Ro catches her first real break--a string of days where she has to stay at Skyhold while waiting for correspondences. She drops off a bundle of letters with Leliana’s crows, and heads to Cullen's office.

He’s up to his elbows in paperwork. The crease between his eyebrows looks like it’s going to settle there, build a home, and raise a family. “That metaphor got away from me,” Ro mutters to herself and knocks on the door jamb.

Cullen looks up. His expression brightens, but his face is still pale. “Roshanak.”

“Take a walk with me,” Ro suggests.

“But—” His hands flutter over the papers on his desk. He looks more than a little overwhelmed.

“Have you taken any breaks today besides meals? If you’ve eaten, that is.”

“I’ve eaten,” he retorts. He frowns at Ro, and sees that she’s not going to bend. They both know that his lyrium withdrawal symptoms worsen if he overworks himself. He sighs. “Very well.”

Before leaving his office, Ro stops and asks, “Do you need more tea mix?”

“I will eventually,” he says, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Within the next fortnight."

“I’ll have it to you as soon as possible,” she promises.

She catches his hand and leads him down to the stables. She goes straight to her battle nug, and pulls Cullen along before she lets go in order to scratch at the base of her nug’s horns. The creature snorts and presses her nose into Ro’s chest.

“I named her Potato,” Ro announces.

From the corner of her eye, she can see Master Dennet shake his head. There's probably an eye roll in there somewhere, too. He doesn't appreciate the names she gives her mounts.

“Potato?” Cullen asks, a little lost, but he rubs a hand over the nuggalope’s neck.

“I like naming important things,” she explains. Just  then , one of the  mouser’s  kittens tumbles out of the barn and weaves her way around Roshanak’s ankles. “Speaking of,” she says and plucks the animal from the ground. “This is Filomena.” She hands the black-and-white kitten to Cullen.

He holds the animal against his chest, hands gentle. The kitten begins purring, and her eyes droop. Cullen half-smiles. “Filomena,”  he greets her in an undertone.

“Or Calogera. I can never tell the two apart,” Ro says. “Cole knows the difference.” She rest her back against the nug’s stall door and folds her arms over her abdomen, cupping her elbows in her hands. Potato snuffles at her hair. “There’s also Portia and Allegra.”

Cullen chuckles.  “I take it Cassandra was less than pleased with those names.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” She grins and runs two of her fingers over the kitten’s head.

“Mousers in the Circle are one of the things both  templars  and mages have always been able to agree on,”  he  comments. "Even if cats are at a higher risk of possession than other animals."

Ro begins to reply, but it’s at that moment when Hawke appears beside Cullen. He starts at the woman’s sudden presence, and the kitten in his hands mews in protest. He shushes it absently.

Judging by her face, Hawke is wildly amused by Cullen’s and the kitten’s reactions. She offers Potato an apple and stage whispers, “Cullen, you are aware that the Inquisitor is a mage, yes?”

“And a vashoth, as well,” he replies. He  scritches  the kitten under her chin and gives Hawke a wary look.

Hawke stares him down, but he doesn’t flinch or wilt under her gaze. His ears turn a little red, but he often reacts that way around powerful women. Ro isn’t sure what’s happening. Then, Hawke claps her hand against Cullen’s shoulder and smiles. “I’ll come visit you later, Commander. I’d like to catch up before we’re killed by antiquated darkspawn,” she says. “Inquisitor.” She nods to Ro and ambles away.

“Has she always been like that?” Ro asks, after Hawke is out of earshot.

“More or less,” Cullen says. Filomena begins to squirm, so Cullen sets her down. She darts back off into the barn. He watches her go, and the corner of his mouth curls into a warm smile. 

Ro swallows, and she wants to kiss that smile, but she doesn’t know if Cullen would accept it.  She looks away. “Kirkwall is far duller without her around, probably,” she mumbles.

Cullen turns his smile to her. “The city deserves a break.”

Roshanak can’t help but smile in return.

\---

Later that evening, Hawke finds Roshanak in the infirmary. She lends a hand while Ro sets a scout’s bone and knits the break back together.

“I owe you a drink,” Hawke says afterwards.

“By all means,” Ro replies and they make their way to the Herald’s Rest.

Hawke hums, then asks, “Is it strange to patronize a place named after you?”

“It’s the only tavern for miles, so I don’t have many other options,” Ro explains. “But, yes, it’s a little bizarre.”

“I can’t imagine what it would be like if people went about invoking Andraste’s name every time they spoke of me,” Hawke muses.

“Surreal,” Ro offers. “Definitely surreal. It would be flattering if it wasn’t so frightening.”

Hawke snorts. “I know that feeling.” 

They find an open table on the second floor and Hawke fetches tankards of the cheapest ale available. Hawke’s a good storyteller, almost as good as Varric, and Roshanak can see his influences in the way Hawke speaks. Hawke tells the story of how she nearly lost her eye as a child when her brother thought he should take up knife-throwing. Then, she picks Roshanak’s brain regarding qunari aqun-athlok, and the differences between Tal-Vashoth and just plain vashoth.

In the middle of their second round, Hawke comments, “I was surprised to learn that Cullen joined the Inquisition. Hrmm, surprise might be the wrong word--too much--but maybe pleased bewilderment would work?”

“Why is that? According to Varric’s book, Cullen defied Meredith in the end. When I first read that, I assumed he would leave the  templars .”

“You might be biased, being a mage and all,” Hawke says. “Us apostates tend to think no  templars  is the best option.”

Hawke stares into the dregs of her cup, as if steeling herself for her next words. “Varric didn't include a lot about Cullen in the  _Tale_ ,  and for good reason.  Cullen  once told me that mages aren’t people. I don’t think he noticed that I am, in fact, a mage, nor did he notice that I had two mages with me. One of whom was trained at the Circle in Ferelden,” Hawke says, then laughs. “Also, the first time we met, it was during a fight. I don’t know how he missed me casting spells. Fenris says I’m the least subtle mage south of Tevinter.”

Ro’s thoughts are still caught on one of the first things Hawke mentioned. “Cullen said mages aren’t people?” The strange interaction between Cullen and Hawke earlier makes more sense now. Not a whole lot of sense, but enough.

“He wasn’t a very good person,” Hawke says. “He was trying to be in the best way he knew how, but that didn’t work in the long run. He’s doing much better now, of course. I’m glad you’ve given him a second chance.”

Ro shakes her head. “I haven’t given him anything. He joined the Inquisition long before I was roped in, and he had every reason not to work with me. Frankly, he’s the one who gave me a chance.”

“Mutual chances,” Hawke mediates. “You should see the way he looks at you. That’s why I had to check earlier, to make sure he knows you’re a mage. Just in case, you know.”

“How does he look at me?”

“The people here, they look at you as if you’re another Andraste, yes? Or that you’re her hand or tool or whatnot. The average person sees you, but with the holiness imposed over everything you are and everything you do,” Hawke explains. “They don’t often detangle you from the Herald. Cullen--he looks at you like you’re you, without the godly parts, and he still has that look of awe and wonderment.”

Roshanak leans back in her chair, and takes a breath. “That’s… very specific.”

“My observational skills are fantastic when the situation’s not life or death,” Hawke states. 

Ro hums to herself and drains her tankard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday, y'all! 
> 
> If you're curious about what Roshanak looks like, you can find a few screenshots [here](http://dwarrows.tumblr.com/post/120000023293/roshanak-adaar-the-magical-hornless-vashoth)!
> 
> EDIT 6 August 15--Fixed a discrepancy regarding Hawke being trans. Initially I had her surprised by the term aqun-athlok, but that doesn't make sense. Fenris would totally know the phrase. She would've learned it from him.


	8. Lyrium (Reprise)

Three days later, she goes to Cullen’s office to drop off a report for Josephine. Of course, Josie has couriers for that sort of thing, but when she asks Ro, her eyes glint with calculation. Ro does her best to remain composed, but she worries when Josephine starts scheming. 

Cullen, however, is not in his office and a quick look out over the courtyard tells Ro that he’s not with the troops, either. One of the soldiers on the ramparts calls out, “Inquisitor. Are you looking for Commander Cullen?” 

Ro nods. “I am, indeed. Do you know where he is?” 

“Speaking with Seeker Pentaghast, I believe,” she replies. 

“Thank you.” Roshanak inclines her head and leaves Josephine’s report on Cullen’s desk. It’s not like Cullen to be away from his office. She makes her way to Cassandra’s corner of Skyhold. 

\--- 

Cullen and Cassandra fall silent when Ro enters the armory. Cassandra’s entire posture screams of frustration, and Cullen is ashen-faced. He looks at Roshanak like she's the last person he wants to see and he doesn’t meet her gaze when he leaves, only mutters an apology without context. 

“What happened?” Roshanak demands. She tries to push away the nettle-sting of hurt and worry in her chest. 

“Leliana tells me you’re helping him with his lyrium withdrawals,” Cassandra says. 

“Yes.” She explains, “It’s more a way to manage things, rather than cure them. But he said it's helped.” 

“Perhaps you should find an alternative treatment. Cullen wishes for me to recommend a replacement for him,” Cassandra states. 

“What? Why?” 

“We made a deal after I recruited him in Kirkwall,” Cassandra says. “I was to watch him, to be sure that he could serve the Inquisition. He no longer believes he is fit for his duties.” 

Roshanak crosses her arms. “That’s ridiculous.” 

“That is what I said.” 

“He does know that recovering from an addiction isn’t the same as recovering from a conventional wound, right?” Admittedly, Roshanak has only dealt with drunkards trying to stay sober, not ex-templars with lyrium. She prays the differences aren’t so great that she loses her only frame of reference. 

“I’ve told him as much, but perhaps he would trust that knowledge better if it came from you,” Cassandra replies. “Talk to him.” 

Roshanak nods and follows after Cullen. 

\--- 

She nearly gets hit in the face by a box of Maker-knows-what when she catches up with him, and then she has to field Cullen’s apologies.  

“Talk to me, Cullen,” she says, words soft. “What’s going on?” 

His knees buckle--a mess of panic and fear wash over Ro--but he waves her off and lets the desk take his weight for a moment. “In Haven, you asked what happened at the Circle Tower during the Blight.” 

“You didn’t want to talk about it.” 

“I still don’t, but you should know. Blood mages took over the tower, and either killed everyone or forced them into becoming abominations. The templars, my friends, were slaughtered and those of us who weren’t killed were tormented and tortured by demons. How can you be the same person after that?” 

“You can’t,” Ro says. “You don’t have to be.” 

“Still, I wanted to serve. I was sent to Kirkwall, where my superior officer was driven to madness by her fear of mages. People were massacred; the Circle rebelled. Kirkwall is still recovering from the chaos. Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?” 

“Cullen—” 

“You should be questioning what I’ve done.” 

“There’s nothing to question. You have no reason to tie yourself to something you cannot believe in anymore,” Roshanak tells him. 

“I thought it would be better. Easier.” He takes halting steps between his desk and bookshelves. He presses the tips of his fingers to his temples. “But these thoughts won’t leave me. I refuse to give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry. I should be taking it!” He lashes out, slams his fist into the bookcase. He lets out a breath, and his shoulders fall, curving inwards. He’s shaking. “I should be taking it.” The last words are soft and heavy with defeat. 

Roshanak steps forward and takes his hands in her. She smooths and straightens out his curled fingers. “Is that what you want? Forget the Inquisition for a moment,” she says. “What do you need to be happy with yourself?” 

“I don’t want it,” he tells her. “But what if I can’t--what if it becomes too much?” 

“You can,” she assures him, and gives his hands a gentle squeeze. “You already are. Giving up lyrium was never going to be easy, Cullen. But it’s not impossible. You’re already proving that. Don’t give up when you’ve come so far already.” 

He closes his eyes, and the tension goes out of him. He leans his forehead against the center of her chest. “Alright,” he breathes. 

\--- 

The next day, Ro visits Cassandra to let her know what happened with Cullen. Cullen apparently already told her, and Cassandra informs Ro that Cullen is taking a few days off from his duties. “To clear his head,” Cassandra parrots. She sighs. “I pray it helps.” 

“It will,” Roshanak states. 

“I’m glad that you convinced him to stay off the lyrium.” 

Ro shrugs. “It didn’t take much. I think he already decided what he was going to do, he merely needed someone confirm it.” 

“I believe you’re right.” The corner of Cassandra's mouth tilts upwards into a smile. 

\--- 

Ro finds Cullen on the battlements in the early afternoon. He’s still in his armor, still wears his sword, but the Inquisition soldiers leave him alone. His eyes focus on the camps in the valley, but his gaze lacks the critical, evaluating expression Ro’s seen so many times before. Today, it seems, Cullen is just letting himself be. 

He spots her before she can greet him. “Roshanak,” he says and smiles up at her. 

“Cassandra let me know about your sabbatical.” Ro stands beside him, close enough that their arms touch. 

“Only for a short time. I pushed myself too hard the other day.” 

“I understand. Take the time you need.” 

“Thank you,” he says. “For your support.” 

“Of course. Are you in much pain?” 

“It comes and goes,” he grumbles. “The recipe your mother sent takes the edge off the worst of it most days. Yesterday was--challenging.” 

“I’ll make some adjustments to the recipe,” Ro says. “And if you’re willing, I can use simple healing spells to ease your headaches. I can’t do much else, but I can do that.” 

“You do more than enough,” he intones. He catches her hand and kisses knuckles. “I’ll think about it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter here. I may or may not post the next one this week??? Chapter 9 was one of my favorites to write, so I'm excited to share it.
> 
> Anyway, thank you everyone for your comments and kudos--it means the world to me to know at least one person enjoys this meandering story! <3


	9. Unfortunate News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise off-schedule chapter!!!
> 
> Because I've been staring at this one for days and it's driving me mad.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are so so so appreciated! <3

Roshanak is tired. Exhaustion pulls at every bone and muscle in her body, and she stares at the door to her quarters, unwilling to open it and face all the stairs she must take to reach her bed. So many stairs, so little energy. It’s been over a month since she last saw Skyhold--she’s relieved to be back, almost relieved to the point of tears, but why are there stairs? 

She rests her head on the door, fingers on the handle, and wishes teleportation was within her power. As Inquisitor and as the Herald of Andraste, it's frustrating that the cardinal rules of magic won’t bend for her. 

There’s sand in her boots from the Western Approach. Once, there was a time when Roshanak believed that leaving a desert meant actually leaving the desert and not bringing little bits of it with her across an entire nation.  

She’s emptied her boots a dozen times, and yet there’s still sand. “I'll never be free of it,” she mutters and pushes the door open. 

The stairs loom before her, impassable as a mountain track in a blizzard, steeper than the slope to greatness. Maybe she could sleep in the stairwell, or curl up on her throne with a blanket. People would talk, Josephine would throw a fit, but at least Ro wouldn’t have to go up any more stairs. Then she thinks, Dorian will let her bunk with him. She takes a step backwards, and runs into someone. She spins on her heel and hopes she hasn’t knocked the poor soul over.  

“Inquisitor,” Cullen says. He’s upright, but wears a startled expression. "Welcome back to Skyhold." 

“How do you manage to sneak up on me while wearing armor?” Ro wonders. 

“You seemed distracted,” he notes. 

She heaves a sigh. “There are too many Maker-forsaken stairs in Skyhold.” If it didn’t mean moving more than necessary, Ro might’ve stamped her foot. 

“You made it this far,” he points out. 

“It’s a miracle, I assure you,” she replies. 

He smiles, then clears his throat and sobers. “I wished to inform you that Inquisition soldiers rescued as many Valo-Kas members as they could,” he says, and passes a letter to her. “I thought it would be best to deliver the news as soon as possible, instead of waiting for a war council.” 

She pours over the letter, and a chill twists inside her gut. “Oh,” she breathes. Sataa, Meraad, and Hissra are dead. Ashaad Two is Maker-knows-where, but at least he’s alive. The rest are alive, Shokrakar and Taarlok and Kaariss and Katoh and everyone else. But Sataa has a husband and daughter back home and Meraad was just beginning to feel comfortable living outside the Qun, and Hissra never once told Kaariss to be quiet when he recited his poetry. 

Tears prickle at Roshanak’s eyes. She takes a deep breath, and tries to let it out slowly, but it jolts out of her lungs like earthquake aftershocks. She squeezes her eyes shut against the tears, doesn’t have the energy to fight them off. There’s a hand at her elbow; Cullen ushers her into the stairwell and shuts the door behind them. 

“I knew they might not make it out at all—” she tries to reason with herself. “It’s good that so many—” Her voice breaks, and she presses her face into her hands. 

“Roshanak,” Cullen intones. He pulls her hands away and his knuckles brush away her tears. 

Her lungs shake in her chest, she gulps down air, tries to stay afloat. “It’s not even the first time we’ve lost someone. Of course it isn’t,” she chokes out. She stares at the letter, but can’t read the words, vision blurred. She curls forward and buries her face in the crook of Cullen’s neck. A silent sob wracks through her and it feels like her ribs and heart and lungs are collapsing. 

Cullen wraps his arms around her, tight, grounding. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs.  

They stay like that for a time--Ro letting Cullen hold her together while she tries to breathe.  

Then, she pulls away. Cullen releases her, but keeps gentle hands pressed against the sides of her neck. Thumbs move back and forth against hinges of her jaw in a comforting sweep. 

“I got snot on your cloak,” she whimpers. 

His lips curve into a smile. “I’ve had worse on it, believe me.” 

She huffs a watery laugh.  

“Can you brave Skyhold’s stairs again?” he wonders. 

“Doesn’t matter if I can. I will,” she grumbles. She rubs at the dampness on her face, tries to clear the heaviness from her chest with a deep breath. It sort of works. 

He laces their fingers together and hauls her up the stairs.  

\--- 

She strips out of her jacket and boots and flops face-first onto her bed. Cullen picks her jacket up off the floor and drapes it over the sofa. He pulls off his gloves and leaves them on the cushion. Ro wonders how long he's planning on staying, but the question sticks in her throat. 

“Shit, Shokrakar is never going to let me live it down if she hears I fell apart like that,” Ro groans into her pillow. 

Cullen sits on the edge of the bed, near her hip. He hesitates, but then rubs a hand up and down her back. “I’m sure she’ll understand.” 

“I know she will, but she’s the toughest person I’ve ever met. I always feel like I’m doing her a disservice when I’m weak.” 

“Mourning lost friends isn’t weak.” She can hear his scowl. 

She tries another deep breath. “I know. I know it isn't.” 

“Why would you even think that?” he asks.

“I wasn't thinking," she admits. "I'm sorry. I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning.” 

“That’s usually the way of these things.” 

Ro hums an agreement and rolls onto her side to see him better. His hand rests on the dip of her waist. She sniffles, tries to be graceful about it, but there's no such thing as a graceful sniffle. “How are you?” she asks. Then, she amends, “How have you been?” Inquisition outposts receive news from Skyhold, so she knew Cullen wasn’t dead or dying while she was away. But still, she worries. 

“I’m fine,” he assures her. He smiles--it's a small, fond thing. “I-I will say that I missed you, however.” 

Ro sits up and presses her palm to his cheek. He fits his hand over hers, anchors her touch. She leans close, brushes her lips to the corner of his mouth. Cullen turns and kisses her, hard, fierce, like he’s been waiting to kiss her for ages. Maybe he has. 

His hands hold her ribs, then slide to her back and rest there, points of warmth on her spine. He pulls her close, and her arms hook around his neck and shoulders. For a short time, the heartsick ache in her chest doesn’t feel so terrible. Light fills her, and almost blots out the dark. She gasps into his mouth, loves the way he smells and tastes, and how his stubbles scrapes against her chin. 

He moves from her mouth to press soft kisses to her cheek, her temple, the crown of her head. She feels loved and in love and it’s hard not to start crying again. 

“I missed you, too,” she breathes against his throat. "I hate being away from Skyhold for very long.” 

“I often find myself wishing to be elsewhere,” Cullen admits. 

“Do you want to trade jobs?” she wonders. 

He chuckles and presses his forehead against hers for a moment. “I’m not sure I could be Inquisitor.” 

Ro reconfigures herself so she’s properly upright, cross-legged, but still pressed to Cullen’s side. He rests a hand on her knee. She traces her fingers up and down the lines of purple-blue veins on the back of his hand.

“And I don’t think I’m cut out for military leadership. Being a figure of divine intervention suits me better,” she jokes and kisses the side of his head. She tugs the leather tie out of her hair and finger-combs through long, snarled curls. She half-expects the desert to pour out of her hair, but she bathed this morning in a stream and managed to wash out all the leftover grit.

“May I—?” Cullen asks. There’s a hopeful look on his face, beneath a blush.  

“What?” she says, and gives him an encouraging smile. 

He swallows, and ducks his head. “Do you have a brush? I could—” He gestures at her hair. 

“Oh,” she says, and beams. She fishes a brush out of her nightstand drawer. “Please,” she says and hands the brush over. She sits on the floor, back leaning against his knees and shins. Her hair spills across his lap. The last time someone else brushed her hair, it was soon after she was treated for the cancer. Her mother Issra took it upon herself to care for Ro’s hair, even if Ro was healed enough to do it herself.  

“I, um,” Cullen starts, and clears his throat. He starts brushing the ends of Ro’s hair with practiced hands, methodical and unhurried, moving upwards when the ends were smoothed. It's much easier to brush her hair when it's wet, but Cullen seems to be doing fine. “I mentioned that I have two sisters.” 

Ro nods. “Mia and Rosalie.” She once received a letter from Mia, but was on strict orders not to tell Cullen. Most of the letter was a thinly veiled threat should Cullen come to any harm while working for the Inquisition.  

“Yes. Before I left for the Order, I was often responsible for Rosalie’s hair,” he tells her. “Mother had arthritic fingers, and Rosalie complained that Mia pulled too hard. Branson and Father were always absent during these conversations, as I recall.” He chuckles. “Rosie said that I was the only one who didn’t make her look like a bird’s nest.” 

“I take it curly hair is a family trait?” Ro wonders. 

“It is. Apparently Rosie cried for days after I left,” he says in an undertone. “I received a letter less than six months later from Mother saying that Rosie cut off all her hair.” 

“How dramatic,” Ro laughs. 

“She always was. But according to Mia, she’s kept it short all these years.” 

“My mothers didn’t have any children after me, but all the vashothari in my village were like family. Later, when I joined the Valo-Kas, those people became my new family,” Ro says, voice soft. “Meraad, Sataa, and Hissra were part of that.” 

Cullen pauses and rests a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want to talk about them?” 

She reaches up and squeezes his fingers. “Sataa is-was from my home village. I should write to her family.” 

He resumes brushing. “Tomorrow.” 

She nods. “Her daughter Mela is a mage. Sataa was fearful when Mela's magic manifested, but she said that if her daughter is anything like me, all will be well. That’s something she said a lot--all will be well. It’s similar to the Qunlat phrase Asit tal-eb. It is to be. But she always felt that was so fatalistic, so she reinvented it.” Ro presses the heels of her hands to her eyes. “She left the Qun because she wanted to live with hope. She carried that with her everywhere, and now she’s—” 

Cullen sweeps her hair to the side and kisses the back of her neck. “Ro,” he says. “You don’t have to talk about this now.” 

“Maker, I’m so tired,” she whimpers and somehow feels more pathetic than she sounds. 

“Then you should sleep,” he says. 

She twists, looks up at Cullen. “Will you stay?” 

“Do you want me to?” He thumbs at her cheekbone.  

“Yes.” 

Cullen nods. "Then, I'll stay. Come on, the sooner you sleep the better," he says and nudges at Ro's shoulder. 

She stands and goes to her closet to change out of her travel-worn clothes. One of the side rooms in her quarters has been converted into a closet. The storage space is far, far too large for her clothes, but there's enough space for her to move without hitting her head or elbows on walls or ceilings.

Cullen shuffles around outside, and Ro pokes her head out of her closet to see what he’s doing. His tabard is draped over her sofa; he’s working on undoing the clasps of his pauldrons and vambraces. Then he moves onto his breastplate.

She ducks back inside, strips, and pulls on loose-fitting, cotton shirt and trousers. The rest of her clothes are left in piles on the floor--she can deal with all that later. 

Cullen is standing in front of the hearth, arms folded across his chest. He's barefoot, and only wearing his undershirt and breeches. Ro's breath catches--he looks so different like this, without all the trappings of duty. He turns, gazes at her, and the firelight catches the curves and planes of his face and body. There's concern in his eyes, but he looks soft and beautiful and touchable. Ro crosses the room in a few long strides. She reaches out to cradle his face between her hands, and she leans down to kiss him. He presses up into her, leaning against her touch, hands framing her hips.

They break apart, breathing heavy, and Roshanak wraps him in a hug and nestles her head against his shoulder. Cullen runs his fingers through her hair. 

"I'll be all right," she says.

"Yes," he agrees. "I know you will."

She falls asleep curled on her side, with Cullen curved against her back. His breath is soft against the space between her shoulder blades, and his arm cinches around her waist. He tucks his toes between her calves, and it makes her smile.

\--- 

Ro’s journey to wakefulness is slow. She feels hungover. Not physically, but emotionally. She’s better for having slept, but grief still presses heavy in her chest. Only now, it doesn’t threaten to overwhelm her. When the Inquisition was still in Haven, Ro took the time to mourn the Valo-Kas, who she thought were all dead. Shokrakar’s letter about their survival felt like a miracle. Now, Ro has to face the loss of three friends all over again.  

And this time, they won’t be coming back. 

She stretches out an arm, seeking Cullen, but touches empty sheets. A noise of annoyance burbles out of her and she pushes herself into a sitting position. Cullen’s out on the east-facing balcony, hands pressed to the railing, shoulders hunched. He’s wearing the breeches and undershirt that he slept in--it must still early if he hasn’t gotten ready for the day yet. 

Ro slips out of bed and joins him. His eyes are shut, brows furrowed; she touches his arm. 

He blinks his eyes open, and he squints at her. “Roshanak,” he says, voice still sleep-rough. 

“Headache?” she wonders and weaves her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

His eyes slips shut again. “It woke me,” he admits. “You said you could use healing magic to help manage the pain.” 

“Yes, that’s true.” 

“Could you—?” 

She pauses. “Are you sure?” 

“It’s not a permanent solution--you’re away far too often for that--but I think today it would be helpful,” he says. He meets her gaze. “I trust you.” 

Ro nods, and does her best not to look like her heart skipped a beat. She lifts her hands and touches her fingertips to his temples. The spell is a simple one--her teacher once described it as pulling away the pain and then pushing it into the Fade. “Imagine you’re sending it past the Fade, into the Void,” Matriel said. So, that’s what Ro does. Like poison from a snake bite, she draws the hurt away, discards it in a place where it has no power. 

Cullen’s entire body loosens, and he lets out a low gasp. “Maker’s breath,” he sighs. 

“Better?” she asks and moves her hands away. 

“Much. Thank you.” He leans against her, and she loops an arm around his shoulders. 

“Thank you for staying last night,” she says. 

He nods. “I hope you’re feeling better this morning.” 

“I am. I always seem to be overly-delicate I’m tired,” she explains. “You know, I hate the Western Approach, but I’ve made the discovery that qunari don’t sunburn like everyone else. We don’t tan much, either.” 

“That’s, well, a little strange, but it must be convenient.” 

She laughs. “Except when I’m called to lather aloe on everyone else.” 

“Really?” 

“Cassandra won’t let me, Dorian only becomes browner, but Cole is currently red as a tomato,” she says. “I never imagined a Fade spirit could get sunburned. Even his silly hats couldn’t protect him.” 

“Roshanak,” Cullen says and pulls away from her. “I wanted to talk to you about--I needed to tell you—” He pauses with a sigh. “I’ve been thinking a great deal about what happened in Ferelden’s Circle and later in the Gallows.” 

“Anything specific?” Ro prompts. 

“I left the Order because I couldn’t stay true to what it had become, but I was also trying to leave behind the person I used to be. I was not a good man. Hatred blinded me. I allowed anger to rule my actions and words.” 

He pushes away from the railing and paces in a short loop on the balcony. His hands clench and unclench at his sides. 

“I-I didn’t explicitly condone the wrongdoings in the Gallows, but I didn’t do anything to stop them, either. For years, I wasn’t even aware of the extent to which mages suffered. I didn’t think to look into it,” he admits, voice low. “I believed that all mages were monsters because of what happened during the Blight, and I let them get hurt because of that belief. I still allowed those abuses to happen. Meredith thought her actions were justified, believed she was keeping the peace in a chaotic city and on the surface that was true. And I followed her lead. Without question or thought.” 

Roshanak watches him pace, anger and shame in every line of his body. She doesn’t say anything. Even if she tried, she doesn’t know if she could say anything good or helpful.  

He halts and looks up at her. “Nothing can justify what happened in Kirkwall. Templars are meant to protect people. I didn’t protect those mages until the eleventh hour and by then it was too late.” 

“Are apologizing to me?” she wonders. 

“No,” he breathes. “That would be unworthy of me and unfair to you. I only want for you to know the whole truth. It’s been--since leaving Kirkwall, I’ve struggled to abandon my prejudices. I've been working to put some distance between myself and the man I was, but you deserve to know the extent of that, however inadequate my explanations are. I was a templar, and you should know what that entailed before we... if you want to continue being us.” 

Roshanak holds out her hands. Cullen lets out a breath, and places his hands in hers. She folds their fingers together and tucks their hands against her chest. “I care about you, Cullen. You, as you are now,” she says. 

“Roshanak—” 

“I’m not trying to discredit what you’ve been through or what you’ve done. I could never do that,” she tells him. “But I care about you, and I know you’re trying. That matters more to me than anything else.” 

“Thank you,” he says, voice soft. He stares at their hands, then at her face.  

There it is--the look Hawke was talking about. A look of adoration and wonder, right there on Cullen’s face. Ro’s breath catches, and it feels like moth wings flutter all around her lungs. She thought Hawke was exaggerating, thought it wouldn’t be so obvious, and that she would never see it herself. 

She plants a kiss on his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added the "asexuality" tag because I headcanon Cullen as ace, and Roshanak is demisexual. So, that'll be a thing that gets touched on later.


	10. Good Luck Charm

In the days before the march on Adamant, all of Skyhold buzzes with activity and restrained disquiet. Roshanak finds herself pulled from one meeting to the next, from war councils to audiences to strategy talks. It feels like she hasn’t seen the outside of Skyhold’s walls in years, when it’s really just been weeks. To keep her sanity, she takes time every evening to visit with her friends, even if the conversations are short.  

It’s a windy, chilly evening when Leliana releases her from her duties for the day. Roshanak makes her way downstairs to the library. Dorian shivers his way through a complaint about the lack of good books. Ro pulls off her shawl and wraps it around his shoulders.  

“I’ll ask Josephine if she has any contacts with access to the books you’re looking for,” she promises while rubbing warmth back into Dorian’s hands. 

“Thank you, Adaar,” he sighs, and melts into her. “You are a gem. The shiniest one, in fact.” 

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Ro tells him with a mock sniffle. 

“Do you really need me, of all people, to shower you with compliments?” he wonders. 

“Maybe only on Tuesdays,” she muses. “I can give you compliments, too. We’ll call it Mutual Admiration Tuesdays.” 

“I’ll mark my calendar,” he says. Then, he draws away. “But as much as I’d like to continue stealing your warmth, there are a few books worth looking at in this desolate place. Only a few, mind you.” He makes to take off her shawl, but she stops him. 

“You need it more than I do. Return it to me in the morning,” she says. 

With reluctant hands, he pulls the fabric back over himself and quirks a smile at her. “I trust you’re off to see Cullen now?” 

“Eventually. I’m beginning to feel as if the preparations for Adamant will destroy us all before the actual siege has a chance,” she says. “He’s not the sort to allow himself breaks until he must.” 

“He listens to you,” Dorian comments. 

“Yes, but he knows I’ll pick him up and throw him off the battlements before I let him work himself into an early grave,” Ro states. 

Dorian snorts. “I’m sure that's the only reason."

Ro fights off the temptation to ruffle his hair. Instead, she makes a show of rolling her eyes and heaving a dramatic sigh before she continues on her way. Dorian might not remember to give her shawl back. She doesn’t mind. It looks better on him anyway.

She stops by her other companions, and fields a question or two from Blackwall about the upcoming siege, before she makes her way to the kitchens.  

“Do you need anything, Inquisitor?” Donatien, the head cook, asks as soon as Ro’s through the door. Donatien is a tall elven man with silvery hair pulled back into a severe bun. From what Ro has heard, he tiptoes the line between efficient and ruthless while running the kitchens. 

The rest of the kitchen staff is busy cleaning the dishes from the evening meal, and a few prepare food for the next day. A trio of apprentice mages from the rebels have been absorbed into the rest of the staff--they help through the strategic use of fire and ice spells. One of them is also said to be the best baker in all of Skyhold. The three mages look at Ro with unfiltered admiration, until their superiors push them back into work. 

“Has the commander asked for any chamomile today?” she wonders. 

“He has not,” Donatien replies. “Should I have a tray made for you both?” 

“I would appreciate it, yes,” Ro says. 

He gives her a short nod and barks, “Tea tray for two. Chamomile.” 

One of his underlings cries, “Yes, messere!” 

“Thank you,” Ro says. She finds an unoccupied corner to stand in, and watches the kitchen staff scurry around one another. Almost like ants. Large, mostly-elven ants. Some seems nervous to have her there, but most try to ignore her. 

Sera waltzes into the kitchens through the back door. There’s a huge grin on her face and she ducks when Donatien glances her way. A few other hands cast looks of disapproval, but none of them stop her or alert Donatien. 

Sera darts between tables and people, snagging various food items as she goes. By the time she reaches the other door, she has at least three rolls shoved down her shirt, a wedge of cheese shoved under her belt, three or four cookies in each hand, and an apple tucked under her chin. She winks at Ro and disappears with as little fuss as she arrived.  

Roshanak ducks her head to hide a smile. 

Shortly afterwards, one of the kitchen hands presents Ro with a tray. There’s a small teapot, two cups, a tiny pot of honey, and a few biscuits on a plate. 

“Thank you,” Ro says. 

“Would you prefer someone deliver it for you, Your Worship?” the young elven girl asks. 

“No, that’s alright. I’ll bring it myself,” she says.  

The girl curtsies low. “As you say, Your Worship.” 

When Roshanak arrives at Cullen’s door, she has to knock by kicking the door with the toe of her boot.  

“Yes?” Cullen calls.  

“Would you mind opening the door for me?” Ro responds. 

The door flies open, and there’s an alarmed expression on Cullen’s face. “What’s wrong? Oh.” He sees the tray. The confusion clears, his face softens. 

“I brought tea,” Ro explains. 

“Thank you.” Cullen gestures her inside and clears a few sheaves of paper to make room for the tray. “I was curious--I mean, it’s later than when you usually visit,” he says. 

Ro smiles and sets down the tray. She pours the tea while Cullen fetches one of the extra chairs in the corner of the room. He brings it close so she can sit adjacent to him.  

“I thought a change of pace might be nice,” she explains. “I prefer tea to any sort of nightcap.” 

“You always add honey,” he comments, watching her. 

Her hands freeze. “Do you not want me to?” 

“No, it’s fine. It’s something I’ve noticed,” he states. 

She hums. “My mother, Rani, always adds honey or sugar to tea. She says life needs more sweetness.” Ro can’t help but laugh. “When I was little, I thought that was such a romantic notion. It’s rather sappy, isn’t it?” 

“I was under the impression that you like sappy,” he tells her with a sliver of a smile. “It’s no secret how you helped mend the bridges between Varric and Cassandra with bad literature.” 

“Don’t tell anyone,” she jokes. “My enemies must not know my weakness.” 

His eyes sparkle. “On my honor.” 

They sit, and Ro hands him a cup and saucer. 

“I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me to Ferelden,” he says. “There’s some business I have to attend to, and I would appreciate your company.” 

“Anything serious?” 

“No,” he says. “Not at all. It’s rather mundane. I won’t bore you with the details.” 

“Well, I’d be more than happy to come with you,” she tells him. “I actually like Ferelden.” 

His nose scrunches up like it does when he's ready to be irritated but hasn't committed to it yet. “As opposed to what?” 

“I was warned that the weather wouldn’t suit me, but I prefer the rain and chill to Orlais’ deserts,” she explains. “The people are kinder, too. Wary of strangers, perhaps, but I’m not constantly second-guessing myself like I do around Orlesians.” 

“Many look down on Fereldans for our simplicity,” Cullen remarks. 

“I’d pick simple over complicated any day,” she says. 

He smiles over the rim of his cup. “I wholeheartedly agree with you there.” 

\--- 

Cullen leads Roshanak to the end of the dock. He hasn’t said much since concluding whatever business he had with the Inquisition outpost here. Ro lets him have his thoughts. 

The air is cool, damp, and smells like rain, or just after rain. Storm clouds collect on the horizon, but she can’t tell if they’re retreating or approaching. The lake is clear. Ro can see all the way to the bottom in most places. Tiny minnows dart between among the shadows of underwater vegetation.  

“Do we have a moment?” Ro asks. 

“Yes,” he says. “You--What are you doing?” 

Ro hops on her right foot in order to pull off her left boot and sock. “I’m going to put my feet in the water,” she says. “Let’s hope there aren’t any large fish in this lake.” 

He gives her a fond smile. “I doubt it.” 

“‘Roshanak the Toeless’ is an interesting title, regardless.” She rolls up her pants legs and sits at the end of the dock. Her feet and calves swish back and forth in the water. “Do you know this place well?” she asks Cullen. 

He stands beside her; she leans her shoulder against his leg. 

“I grew up not far from here. I love my siblings, but at times they could be loud. This place was my escape, at least until they came to find me,” he replies. 

“Are you youngest? Eldest?” 

“Mia’s the eldest, followed by Branson, me, and Rosalie,” he says. “In that order.” 

“And they’re in South Reach?” 

“Yes. They relocated there during the Blight. They have a farm now that Mia runs. Branson, his wife, and Rosalie help, of course, but Mia is the head of the family.” 

“Her responsibilities are greater.” 

“She’s always believed so,” he snorts. 

“There’s a reason you brought me here,” Ro hedges. “It’s peaceful and beautiful, and I definitely need places like this, but that’s not the only reason.” 

Cullen crouches and presses a small silver coin into her hands. “I wanted you to have this,” he says. “When I left to join the Order, my brother gave it to me. Templars aren’t meant to have personal property, but he said it was good luck and I’ve kept it with me since.” 

Roshanak cradles the coin in her palm, looks at both sides. One side has an imprint of Andraste on it, the other has an image of a small wildflower, probably Andraste’s Grace. It doesn’t look like any money she’s seen. Before she can censor herself, she asks, “Are you sure it’s lucky?” 

“I lived long enough to meet you, didn’t I?” His face flushes scarlet as soon as the words are spoken. 

She grins. “That was very suave.” 

“Don’t get used to it,” he grumbles and pushes himself to his feet. 

She takes her feet out of the water and follows him. “Thank you,” she says and tucks the coin in her pocket. “I’ll keep it safe. I’m surprised, though, that you broke the Order’s rules so quickly.” 

“I didn’t again for nearly twenty years,” he replies. 

She smiles. “You know, I had a dream a few nights ago that I lived in the Gallows and was attempting to smuggle you away,” she admits. “For some reason no one thought it was strange that I kept trying to put the knight-captain on various boats bound for Antiva or Rivain.” 

Cullen chuckles. “What did I think of your schemes?” 

“You were a little cross with me. As if I was a kitten chasing at your bootlaces,” she explained. “Oh, and Dorian was there, too. He nearly tripped you into the harbor.” 

“I wouldn’t put it past him.” 

“Yes, but it the whole strange sequence has me wondering about how my life would be different if I had grown up in the Circles. Possibly as the first qunari to ever live in a Circle,” she says. “Would I have had the courage to speak to you if I was?” 

Cullen’s eyes are pensive, and perhaps a little dark. “The way that I saw mages, and qunari for that matter--even if you’d tried, I’m not sure I would have cared for you in the slightest and the very thought of that sickens me. You are a remarkable woman and--I feel safe with you,” he professes. “I didn’t know I could feel that again with anyone, let alone a mage. Not after what happened in Kinloch Hold. Yet, here we are. You are proof that I was wrong, and that I can be better.” 

Ro kisses him--two short, punctuating kisses, before she pulls him into a tight hug. His arms squeeze around her ribs and she feels warm and lovely. She rests her chin on the top of his head. 

“You’re a very sweet man,” she tells him. 

His shoulders shake with a quiet laugh. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been called ‘sweet’ before,” he remarks. 

“Cullen, you just gave me a token of your affections,” she points out. 

“Yes,” he agrees. “I did.” 

“Thank you.” 

His hands rub over her spine. “You said that.” 

“I’ll probably say it again. Just in case you forget that I appreciate you.” 

And though she can’t see his face, she can feel him smiling. 

\--- 

When they return to Skyhold, Ro asks Dagna to help turn Cullen’s good luck charm into a pendant, so she can wear it on a necklace. Ro’s not about to drill a hole through the coin in order to wear it, and she and Dagna discuss options to work around that. Dagna is disappointed that Roshanak doesn’t let her enchant the coin, but she does put it on a chain that will give Ro’s fire spells an extra boost. 

It’s a comfort in the coming days, the charm tucked beneath her shirt where she can just press a hand against her sternum to be reminded of its presence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week on _Giant Woman and Tiny Blond Boyfriend_ : More Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Written By An Unrepentant and Indulgent Sap.


	11. The Gardens

Roshanak presses her palms to the war table, and looks over the iron and brass markers spread across the map. "Cullen, can you have troops secure the gold mine in the Approach?" she asks. "I don't want the Red Templars to take control of it, not while Adamant still stands." 

"Of course, dear," he replies. 

Josephine stifles a gasp, but Leliana does nothing to dim her sparkling smile. 

Cullen shoots them a puzzled look. Awareness dawns in his eyes and he turns a lovely shade of scarlet. He coughs into his fist and dares a glance at Ro. 

She grins.  

Cullen scowls. Then, he clears his throat and says, "I mean, of course, Inquisitor." 

"Thank you, Commander," she replies. 

\--- 

Her fingers sink deep into the dirt, seeking out the roots of weeds. There are others who can weed her garden when she's busy, but she's protective of her flowers and herbs. The herbalists and gardeners are all qualified and skilled, of course, and yet Roshanak prefers to do things herself. She imagines her parents have plenty of stories about her as a child, trying to take on task too big or complex for her.

The sun sits at a low place in the sky, and its gold-orange light hits the rooftops of Skyhold. The garden air is cool, but not chilly. Roshanak's shawl is folded on a nearby bench.

Preparing for Adamant has kept her away, and the weeds are choking her marigolds. She doesn't know if she or anyone else will survive a fight that may involve a demon army, but she's not going to let her flowers die. 

This is the first time in a long while that she's had more than a few moments to pause and think. Roshanak discovers that's not a good thing.

Her hands are covered in dirt and they shake while she pulls weeds and piles them in a bucket. Her heart beats too fast for something as straightforward as weeding. Why won't her hands stop shaking? She sits on her heels and stares down them, at the dirt and skin and muscles that aren't working right. Maybe she's getting sick.

Or maybe there are only a few days left before Skyhold empties and lays siege on Adamant. Ten years ago, she was an adolescent and terrified of the stories coming out of Ferelden, full of darkspawn and sickness and war. Her mothers tried to shelter her from the worst of it, but she was old enough to notice the tightness in their faces, the worry etched into their bodies.

Ro was sure the Blight would spread, and she would die or her family would die and--she had never been more afraid of anything in her entire life. Her fear of templars and the Qun were ever-present, yes, but those were far-off things. Her family and friends could protect her and her freedom. No one could save her from the Blight, except the Wardens.

And they did--the Wardens kept the Blight from spreading north. Roshanak spent hours upon hours reading about the Hero of Ferelden and Grey Warden history. She admired them, still admires them, and now she has to go kill them. It's all wrong and she's never hated being Inquisitor until now, stomach aching with worry and fear.

She can't do this right now.

"Shit," Ro says under her breath. She stands and brushes her hands off on her leggings. She leaves the gardens before anyone can speak to her, though Mother Giselle catches her eye and seems to see something in Ro's face. She offers a small smile, and lets Ro slip away unnoticed.

\---

She washes her hands in the small basin in her quarters and changes out of her dirt-smeared clothes. She runs a wet washcloth over her face and neck.

Roshanak takes a few moments to breathe, then heads to the tavern. Iron Bull takes one look at her and gestures to the empty chair beside him. Ro feels her shoulders loosen as soon as she sits. She pulls her legs up to sit cross-legged, and rests her elbows on her thighs.

"What's up, boss?" he intones, soft. "You look a little--" He frowns, but doesn't finish the sentence.

One of the servers delivers a tankard of ale to Roshanak, and she thanks the elf with a smile. Cabot doesn't let her have free drinks, and even if he did she wouldn't let him. The servers know she tips well, and almost always bring her a drink before she even has the chance to ask.

After taking a swallow of bitter ale, she says, "I realized that I shouldn't be alone right now."

"Well, this is the place to be, then," Iron Bull says. 

Ro nods and rotates her tankard in her hands, catalogues the variations in the ceramic's glaze.

Bull's expression is speculative. "Does Cullen know you're having a crummy day?"

"No," she says. "I haven't seen him since after lunch. I was fine this morning."

Bull nods. "Is he going to know?"

Roshanak wanted to go to Cullen's office as soon as she left the gardens. But he's even more swamped with work than she's been. The siege is being orchestrated by him, and his troops. Roshanak will lead the battle, but everyone knows who planned it.

Despite all that, she's allowed to lean on him, just as he's allowed to lean on her. If Cullen was doing poorly and didn't tell Roshanak, she'd be worried and upset. She imagines he'd feel the same if she doesn't let him know what's going on with her.

"Yes," she says. "I'll visit him shortly."

Bull makes a noise of acknowledgement and approval. 

They sit together, quiet, and then Krem, Dalish, and Grim drag their chairs over. Krem sets an opaque bottle on the barrel beside Bull.

"Your Worship, Chief," Krem greets them. "Haven't seen much of you around here recently, Inquisitor."

She manages a smile. "I've been busy. If I had known being Inquisitor was so time-consuming, I think I might've offered the job to someone else."

Krem grins and shakes his head; Dalish rolls her eyes. Grim doesn't deign her bullshit with even the smallest of snorts.

"You enjoy it," Dalish accuses.

"Some of the time, yes," Ro admits. "It feels good knowing that I've actually helped people. And I can't complain about the company, either."

The Chargers raise their tankards, and Ro's smile feels a little easier.

\---

It's after dark when Roshanak lets herself into Cullen's office. The room's main source of light is a cluster of candles at the corner of his desk. Cullen's hunched over a bundle of papers, writing with short, sharp strokes. He doesn't seem to notice her; his eyes are focused on the task at hand.

Roshanak pulls a chair up beside him. He only looks up when he hears the chair legs scrape over the floor.

"Roshanak," he says, surprised.

She sits and lets her head fall against the fur on his shoulder. "Writing letters?" she wonders.

"Yes. Is something wrong?" he wonders. His hand finds hers.

"Been having a rough day," she admits. "I'm worried about Adamant."

His hand tightens around hers. "What has you concerned?"

"I've never been in a proper battle before," she says. "Haven was different--I didn't have time to prepare or think about what was happening. Logically, I know we have an excellent chance of stopping Corypheus' plans."

Cullen rests his cheek to the top of Ro's head. "Will it help if I tell you that you're right?"

"Yes."

He huffs a laugh. "Roshanak, you're right. Any siege or battle is a risk, but we have the upper hand against the Wardens, even with their demons. Corypheus hasn't succeeded yet, and we won't let him."

The words settle into her head, heart, gut, and she draws in a deep breath. Cullen smells like wax and ink and the tea Roshanak mixes for him. Ro closes her eyes and focuses on breathing. He smells like home, somehow, even though the house she grew up in smelled like cedar and fresh bread and the lemons Issra used for cleaning.

Cullen's lips brush the crown of her head. "You're right," he repeats, voice just above a whisper.

\--- 

The night before the march on Adamant, Roshanak writes a letter to her parents. She tells them that she’s off to stage a proper siege against the Grey Wardens, and that it may or may not be more dangerous as attending a ball at the Winter Palace. Then, she assures them she and the Inquisition are in good hands, the soldiers are ready, and their military commander knows what he’s doing. She’s written a few times about Cullen, but she’s not sure her parents are aware of her relationship with him, or that he’s her commander. Ro trends towards vagueness when writing home, a habit that Issra finds infuriating. 

This letter, however, is perfectly clear. If she’s going to die, she wants them to know she died as happy as the situation allowed. So, she tells them that Cullen is her kadan, even if she hasn’t told him that yet. She’s not sure he’ll understand fully, but he makes her smile. “Be kind to him if he returns from this and I don’t,” she writes and signs her name. 

One of Leliana’s birds takes the letter in the morning. Roshanak tracks its flight while she and the Inquisition’s armies prepare to march out of the mountains. It doesn’t take her long to lose sight of the bird.  

She doesn’t know why she feels so terrible about this--Cullen’s plan is solid. They have the troops, they have the supplies, they have the siege engines. Adamant will yield. Corypheus will not get his spindly hands on a demon army. Even so, apprehension collects in her gut like rainwater, soaks through to her bones and colors her mind in dark tones. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws this chapter at the internet* take it away i don't want to look at it anymore
> 
> *makes a really whiny noise*
> 
> *slides out of my chair and pools in a lump on the floor*
> 
> *drinks vodka from a sippy cup*


	12. Adamant

When Ro and her companions fall physically into the Fade, she's so glad she sent that last letter home. It’s a tiny relief in the face of overwhelming doubt.  

Then she wonders if she’s going to starve to death, or if the demons will get her first. 

The truth is neither, of course, because she’s the Inquisitor and she and Dorian found their way back from the future. Finding their way out of the Fade seems smaller, after that. At least, that what she tries to believe while stomping through murky Fade-water and killing spider-demons and talking to the could-be spirit of Divine Justinia. 

Everyone but Warden Stroud emerges unscathed. Roshanak regrets, but she holds fast to her fury and closes shut the last rift at Adamant. She wants to raze the fortress to the ground and burn the remaining stones. Maybe if there's nothing left of this place, her hands will stop shaking. 

Instead, she commands the Wardens to join the Inquisition. The decision makes several people mad, but she is too exhausted and hollowed-out to care. 

\--- 

It takes nearly two weeks to travel from Adamant Fortress back to Skyhold. Roshanak doesn't sleep much on the journey, and she has few occasions to speak to her friends and companions. Everyone is busy--Roshanak spends most of the trip in the healers' tents and with the section of the caravan bearing the sick and wounded. It's a good distraction, and she knows it, but at night she can't sleep because she doesn't want to go back to the face. She does't want to be stuck there in any capacity. 

Once she’s back safe within Skyhold’s walls, Roshanak retires to her quarters.  

Tomorrow, she’s expected to pronounce judgment on Erimond. She’s going to kill him, though he deserves worse. Deep in her roiling gut, she wishes she were bad person, wishes she could give him the worst death possible and not have it haunt her. But it would, and she doesn't want scum like him to leave a mark on her soul.  

She would cry herself to sleep if she wasn't so exhausted. Angry, fearful tears wait just behind her eyes, and threaten to burst forth at any moment. She presses her face into her pillow, and prays that she doesn't dream. Luckily, she doesn't, and she sleeps straight through the night.

In the morning, she emerges and is ready to return to her duties. 

Roshanak beheads Erimond in the lower courtyard and then calls a war meeting long before his body grows cold. 

Jospehine catches her just outside the war room. She hesitates before speaking, but she does reach out and squeeze Ro’s hand. “Inquisitor,” she begins. Then, amends, “Roshanak.” 

Josie seldom uses Ro’s given name. “Josephine?” 

“We can delay this meeting, if you wish. I know we all have other matters that we can occupy ourselves with. You and the rest of the army returned less than a day ago. Perhaps this evening or even tomorrow—” 

“Do I look that bad?” Ro questions, and her own words sound more haggard than she expects. 

Josephine offers a small smile. “You’re pale as a ghost,” she admits. “No one expects you to recover so soon after your ordeal.” 

Roshanak’s shoulders slump and she lets out a breath. “I didn’t sleep very well.” 

“Not surprising, give the circumstances.” 

“Can you--would you ask Leliana to send my parents a note saying I’m alive?” Ro can’t write it herself right now. She doesn’t have the words and her mind still feels flayed. 

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Josephine says. “Now, you should get some rest. I’ll postpone any appointments you had today.” 

Ro sighs again. “You’re a gift, Josie.” 

Josephine grins and slips into the war room. 

Roshanak returns to her quarters, strips down to her smalls and a simple undershirt, and buries herself beneath her bed covers. Uneasy sleep takes her soon after. 

\---

She wakes. It feels like only minutes have passed, but from her cocoon she can see the sun’s noontide light slant into the room. A low grumble escapes from her throat. She’s not interested in being awake, at least not when she can get away with a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. 

“Ro? Are you awake?” Cullen asks from across the room. 

“What?” She twists and rolls under her covers in order to see him.  

He’s at her desk, halfway out of her chair.  

“What?” she asks again. She clears the grogginess out of her throat and says, “Cullen?” 

He steps around her desk and comes to sit on the edge of her bed. “I, um, I had hoped you wouldn’t mind if I came in to check on you, but you were asleep. I didn’t wish to wake you.” 

“I don’t mind,” she tells him. “You have an open invitation here.” 

He blinks. “Ah. Thank you.”

She sits up and folds her arms atop the blanket. “Do you know how long I slept?” 

“Three hours, or so.” He tucks some wayward hair behind her ear. When she leans into his hand, he thumbs at the pointed tip of her ear. She hums her approval. Cullen pulls one of his knees up on the bed so he can face her. “When I heard that you fell into a rift,” he says, “I thought--I don’t know what I thought.” 

“You thought I was dead,” Ro says. 

“It was something I had to consider,” he admits, eyes dark. He cups her face between gentle hands. “Maker’s breath, Ro, how did you get out? What happened?” 

“It was worse than my Harrowing,” she tells him.  

His mouth forms an unhappy line.  

“We were in the Fade, the part ruled by a fear demon called Nightmare. It knew exactly what to say and what to show us to make us afraid,” she explains. “But Divine Justinia was there, or at least a spirit that looked like her was there. She guided us through.” 

“Wait, the Divine?” 

“It wasn’t Andraste who saved me at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It was Divine Justinia. And this,” she says and lifts her left hand. “The mark? It was an accident. I stumbled into something by chance.” 

“Roshanak, start from the beginning,” Cullen asks and takes her hands.  

So she does. She pours all of her terror and anger and confusion into her words.  

“A small part of me did believe that Andraste saved me,” she admits. She stares at her bed covers, at the weave of the dark fabric. “It wasn’t her, though. It was the Divine. She sacrificed herself to save me.” 

He lets go of her hands and touches her chin, lifts her gaze to his. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m a little shaken. I think we all are,” she says. “I wish none of it had happened. It shouldn’t have happened.” 

“I’m sorry,” Cullen tells her. “For what it’s worth, I’m relieved you made it out alive.” 

“I am, too,” she says. 

He opens his mouth to speak again, then pauses and considers his words. Then, he says, “I still believe the Maker sent you, Ro. It doesn’t matter who delivered you from the Fade the first time, Andraste or the Divine. Either way, it was still an act of the Maker.” 

“I want to believe that, too, but it’s too much to think about right now.” 

“Of course,” he assures her. “Is there anything I can do for you? Have you eaten?” 

“No, but I don’t have the stomach for much of anything,” she says. 

He doesn’t look like he’s pleased with that, but he nods. “Later, then.” 

“Later,” she agrees. 

“Do—” Cullen clears his throat. “Do you want company? I can go, if you wish.” 

She kisses the top his head. “No, I would be happy to have you stay.” 

He smiles. “I asked Leliana to inform me if something pressing comes up,” he tells her. “I’m yours until then.” 

“Josephine said she’s rearranging my appointments today. I think we’re free, at least until the next crisis,” she replies and falls backwards, back onto the bed. 

“Are you going back to sleep?” Cullen asks. 

“Not yet.” She flails an arm out and plucks the book off her nightstand. “Join me, if you’d like. My desk chair isn’t the most comfortable. I could do with a cuddle.” 

“As my lady commands,” Cullen says with a bashful grin. He starts taking off his armor and lays it out on Ro’s sofa. He unfastens his greaves and toes off his boots last, but then hesitates, hands at the hem of his undershirt. 

“You should know, I’m not wearing trousers, so you have no obligation to wear a shirt,” Roshanak informs him. 

“Ah,” he intones and strips his shirt off in one quick motion. 

Ro flips up the corner of her blankets and Cullen clambers in. There’s a few moments where they both shift and wiggle around to find a comfortable position. Cullen ends up on his side, pressed up against Ro, with his head on her chest. One of his arms stretches across her middle, and she props her book on it. She has an arm looped around his back and shoulders. Her fingers rub against the slight indents of his ribs. Their legs tangle together. 

“What are you reading?” he asks. 

It’s a little strange to have someone so near her chest, but he doesn’t seem bothered by her unconventional proportions, so she wills herself not to worry about it. Forgetting to be self-conscious isn’t difficult when she’s so warm and comfortable. 

“Tales of Val Royeaux by Lord Jauquin,” Roshanak replies. “I was never exposed to many Orlesian stories growing up, so I’m trying to learn more. Should I read aloud?” 

“I would like that,” he murmurs. 

She clears her throat and turns back a couple pages, so she can start at the beginning of the tale. She begins to read, free hand skimming Cullen’s skin. Within half an hour, Cullen’s breathing slows into sleep.  

He sleeps well into the afternoon. Roshanak stopped reading aloud a long while back, and she plows through the anthology without any distractions. There’s only a sliver of pages left when Cullen starts shivering and muttering scared, angry words under his breath. Roshanak can’t make out his words. 

His eyes fly open and he recoils from her touch. 

“Cullen?” She scampers back, and sits against her headboard. Her books falls to the floor with a soft thump. 

For a moment, Cullen squeezes his eyes shut and just breathes. 

“You were having a bad dream,” she says. 

He rolls onto his back and runs his hands down his face. He takes a deep breath and looks up at Roshanak. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t mean to worry you.” He sits up, back facing Ro, and another shiver goes through him. 

She didn't get a good look before, but she can clearly see now the scars on his back. Up near his shoulders are sparse, cross-hatching lines, as if from claws or a whip. There a few burn scars farther down, skin puckered and pale.

Ro shakes her head. “You don’t need to be sorry,” she says. “May--Can I touch you?” she asks. 

He nods. 

Ro scoots forward. She wraps one arm across his chest, around the front of his shoulders, and her other arm loops around his ribs. Cullen leans back against her. She kisses the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and presses her face against the side of his head. “You’re alright,” she promises. 

His hands come up to grip her forearms, and he pulls her tighter around him. They breathe together for a few minutes. 

“It’s always the same thing. Variations of the same nightmare,” he says, frustration in every word.  

Roshanak makes to let go, but he tugs her back.  

She asks, “Is there anything that makes them better, or worse?” 

“When I first stopped taking lyrium, they happened every night. It was like reliving the months after Kinloch Hold fell apart,” he tells her. “But like the rest of the ills that accompany withdrawal, the nightmares have improved, but at times it still feels like I'm back there.” 

“You didn’t seem to have any problems the other time you slept here,” Ro says. 

“Exactly. I slept fine that night, and only woke because of that blasted headache,” Cullen grumbles. Then, he sighs. “Forgive me.” 

“For what?” 

“You’re the Inquisitor. You shouldn’t have to be a caretaker, least of all mine.” 

“Shush, you,” Ro chides. “I’m no one’s caretaker. I help if I can, because you matter to me. You’re not an obligation, Cullen. Besides, you look out for me, too.” 

“I try to,” he says. “But you make it difficult when you manage to trap yourself in the Fade, Ro.” 

“That was an accident, I swear on my nuggalope’s life.” 

Cullen chuckles and turns in her arms. He brushes his lips against hers before he deepens the kiss. Ro would be content to kiss him forever, to share his breath, feel his skin against her own--but they break apart when her stomach growls. 

Cullen grins up at her. “I believe that’s a sign you should eat.” 

Ro chuffs, kisses him again, and rolls out of bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have chapter 13 more or less finished, the bulk of 14, 15, and 16 written, and just snippets of 17, 18, and 19. I know where I'm going with those, however. I've come to the realization that this story has very little by way of plot. It's like a PWP but more like FWP--fluff without plot. That is, unless you consider a developing relationship to be adequate plot. OH WELL.
> 
> Chapter 20 is... I have no clue how that's going to go down. Maybe Roshanak will punch a dragon into the Fade, engage Hawke and the Hero of Ferelden in a sordid threesome, and light the socio-political Chantry institution on fire. I mean, probably not, but a guy can dream, right?


	13. Isabela and Fenris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke/Isabela/Fenris is my favorite Dragon Age OT3.

Isabela and Fenris arrive at Skyhold three days after Inquisition forces return from Adamant. They send no warning of their arrival, and instead appear in the main hall just after breakfast. Roshanak, Hawke, Cullen, and Cassandra are clustered near the throne, trying to figure out what should be done with what's left of Adamant and the Wardens. 

Cassandra’s gaze focuses beyond Hawke, towards the main doors. “Surely that cannot be—” she begins. 

Roshanak turns, and Hawke shoots past her, an arrow aimed at the newcomers. 

Isabela breaks into a sprint as soon as she sees Hawke. She lets out a shriek of joy that startles a few nearby nobles. Hawke screams, “Isabela!” and adds a skip to her gallop. Isabela takes a flying leap, Hawke catches her, and swings her in a few wobbly loops. When her feet are back on the ground, Isabela bends Hawke over backwards and kisses her. It's an impressive feat, since Hawke is much taller than Isabela.

Fenris doesn’t run, but he takes long, loping strides towards the two women, then wraps them both in his arms. He leans up on his toes and he kisses Hawke’s temple.  

“Fenris,” Hawke half-sobs. 

“I guess so,” Cassandra mutters to herself. She scans the room. “What a time for Varric to be absent.” 

“Will you go find him?” Ro asks. 

Cassandra sighs. “Very well.” She stalks away. 

Cullen and Ro exchange a glance. “I’ll alert Josephine,” Cullen says. 

She touches his shoulder. “Thank you, kadan,” Ro replies. 

A look of confusion passes over his face, but he just shakes his head a bit and makes his way towards Josephine’s office. Roshanak steps past the staring nobles and goes to greet Hawke’s companions. 

Fenris breaks away from Isabela and Hawke as soon as he notices Ro. 

“Shanedan, Inquisitor,” he intones and inclines his head. 

“Ataas shokra, serah,” Roshanak replies and tries not to smile too much.  

“Maker’s balls,” Isabela mutters, and leans far enough away from Hawke to look at Ro. 

“Problem, Isabela?” Fenris wonders. 

“You and your Qunlat,” she grumbles. “Gives me the jitters.” She curls an arm around Fenris's waist and presses against his side.  

Fenris adjusts his stance to better support her weight. Hawke hangs her arm around Isabela’s shoulders. Her fingers brush against Fenris’ arm. 

Ro laughs and says, “Don’t worry. I don’t use it very often around non-qunari. My pronunciation is pretty terrible, I’ve been told. My parents wanted me to know the trade language better than Qunlat.” 

“You are Vashoth, then?” Fenris asks.  

Ro nods. “I am,” she replies. “My parents are Tal-Vashoth.” 

“There’s a difference?” Isabela scoffs. 

Hawke trills, “Of course there is, Isabela! Have you ever known the Qunari to be imprecise?” 

“When you put it that way,” Isabela concedes.  

“Cultural semantics aside, you are both very welcome here,” Roshanak declares. “Any friend of Varric's is a friend of mine. I'm sure he will be happy to see you.” 

Isabela grins. “Oh, yes, I’ve missed my favorite friend fiction collaborator.” 

“You missed his low cut shirts,” Fenris remarks. 

“Well, since you won’t indulge me—” 

Varric’s voice calls out from the rotunda doorway. “Rivani? Broody?” 

“Speaking of,” Hawke drawls. 

Isabela drags Hawke with her when she goes to accost Varric. Fenris slants a small, polite smile at Roshanak, then follows Isabela at a more sedate pace.  

Cullen sidles up alongside Ro. “Josephine already knew,” he comments. 

“Oh?” 

“Leliana sent a runner ahead,” he explains.  

“I'm not actually surprised,” Ro states.  

“Additionally, Josephine requests that we convene earlier than planned. There are a few dignitaries from Maker-knows-where arriving earlier than expected,” Cullen states.  

“Inquisitor!” Varric calls. “We’re going for a drink in the tavern, care to join? You, too, Curly.” 

“It’s not even noon,” Cullen mutters. In a louder voice, he says, “Thank you, no.” 

Isabela and Hawke pout. 

“I’m actually needed in the war room,” Roshanak says. “Another time, perhaps?” 

“Sure thing, Your Inquisitorialness,” Varric says. 

The four friends head out, but Roshanak catches their last few words before they’re out of earshot. 

“Ooo, war room,” Isabela purrs. “That sounds like loads of fun. Do you think they’d let me join?” 

“Isabela, I would rather we not offend the Inquisition,” Fenris grumbles. 

“You should know--the war table is large enough for at least five people,” Hawke states. 

“The things you say, Hawke,” Isabela sighs. 

Cullen clears his throat; his cheeks are a little flushed. “We should—” 

“Of course,” Roshanak says. “I’m sure Josephine is waiting for us.” 

\--- 

Roshanak doesn’t plan on it, but Varric drags her to the tavern that evening. She isn’t sure if it’s a good idea, and tells him as much. Corypheus’ forces are moving about in the Arbor Wilds and she needs to shut down a red lyrium quarry in the Dales. Cole wants her help with an amulet, Cassandra tracked down the rest of the Seekers and wishes to investigate, and—Varric tells her she deserves a break. 

He might be right. There’s always something more that needs doing, but it’s only been days since Adamant. Besides, Ro’s always wanted to spend time with more of Varric’s friends from Kirkwall, and Varric promises to buy the first round and not let Isabela cheat too much if they play cards. 

Hawke crows a greeting when Roshanak enters the tavern. “Lady Inquisitor Adaar!” She gestures dramatically at an empty chair. “Join us!” 

Their table is tucked into one of the alcoves near the entrance. Varric sits at the head of the table with Isabela and Hawke at his right and left hands. Fenris sits next to Hawke, and Ro take the empty place beside Isabela. 

“Nice of you to show up,” Varric says with a grin. 

“You promised to buy me a drink. I was coerced,” Roshanak replies. 

“Alright, Inquisitor, I can take a hint.” Varric hops off his chair and heads to the bar. 

“Well, I’m still delicate from the shit that went down at Adamant,” Hawke admits. “I’m sure you are, too, Adaar, so I will buy all the drinks you want, if it helps.” 

Ro can’t help but smile. “Thank you, Hawke, but I don’t want to force someone into carrying me back to my room.” 

Fenris lifts his mug in a silent toast. 

“I should go help Varric carry things,” Hawke announces and scampers after Varric. 

Isabela leans her elbows on the table and looks at Ro. “Do you know how lucky you are that Hawke is alive?” Isabela wonders, voice light and airy. It’s a ruse--her eyes are sharp and calculating. They flicker with the firelight in the tavern. 

Roshanak doesn't let Isabela's intensity frighten her. Hawke is safe and sound; Ro made sure of that. “My chances of being stabbed have stayed more or less the same since the Winter Palace,” Roshanak muses. “But I never had a contingency plan for having my heart literally ripped out." Her gaze flickers over to Fenris and she flashes a quick smile.

Fenris raises an eyebrow, but he seems more amused than anything else. 

Varric and Hawke return. “We come bearing gifts!” Hawke cries and hands out the tankards. 

“Thank you,” Roshanak chimes. 

Isabela presses a kiss to Hawke’s cheek and takes a swig of ale. She asks Ro, “You have a plan for when your heart is figuratively ripped out?” 

Roshanak gestures to their surroundings. “We have a tavern.” 

Isabela chortles. 

“I’d rather not resort to that, however,” Ro adds. 

Hawke snorts. "I don't that will be a problem for you."

Isabela glances past Ro and remarks, "I'm with Hawke on this one, sweet thing."

Ro turns and follows Isabela's gaze; Cullen’s at the tavern entrance, looking at her. He offers a smile when their eyes meet. 

“I should—” Ro says and stands. 

“Go on,” Isabela says and claps a hand to Ro's shoulder. “We’ll be here, waiting with bated breath." 

“Isabela,” Fenris chides. 

Cullen meets Ro halfway. “I’m sorry, if you’re busy—” he begins, and his eyes flicker to Hawke’s table. Hawke and Isabela wave. Cullen swallows and turns back to Ro. “I’m free for the evening, if nothing else comes up, and I wanted to speak with you. If you have a moment to spare.” 

“For you, I’ll allow several moments,” Roshanak says and grins. 

Cullen shares her smile, then clears his throat. “Shall we?”

They head out into the courtyard. The air temperature has dropped since earlier, and the sky is clear and bright with stars. The moon is nearly full and the whole of Skyhold is lit with silvery light. It’s bright enough that she can see Cullen’s face clearly. She hops up onto the wall that overlooks the lower courtyard. Cullen leans against the stonework beside her; his hip brushes against her thigh. 

Roshanak holds out her hand and, without hesitation, Cullen slips his fingers between hers. His other hand comes up and rests on top of hers. 

“I’m fairly sure that they’re planning on getting me drunk, and I’d rather not,” Ro says. 

“I have a hard time imagining you being forced into that,” he tells her with a small smile. 

Ro laughs. “You should have seen me when I was eighteen or nineteen. I was very susceptible to suggestions from my friends,” she tells him. “Anyway, you wanted to talk?” 

“Um, yes. I had a question. Earlier, you called me—” He pauses. “Kadan?” 

“Kadan, yes.” 

“I-Is that Qunlat?” he asks.  

“It is.” She smiles, soft. “The best translation is ‘where the heart resides.’” 

He blinks at her, a little dazed. “Does it have a cultural significance?” he wonders. 

“I would say so. Kadan is used for close friends and family, and for those of us outside the Qun, we also use it for romantic partners,” she explains. “It’s hard to explain, but I’ll try my best. 

“Kadan means more than just friend or lover,” she says, voice pitched low. “Qunari feel deeply and fiercely. Some argue that we require the Qun in order to stay civilized. That’s not true, of course, but it makes a degree of sense.  

“I’m not sure if it’s cultural or if we’re just naturally inclined, but once we’ve bonded with someone, that bond won’t break unless there are extreme circumstances. My heart resides with the people that are kadan to me. Like my parents, my best friend in the Valo-Kas, and Dorian, too. Those are all platonic or familial relationships. Your situation is different, special." She pauses and sighs. "Honestly, this conversation is long overdue,” Ro says.  

“Ah, yes, that’s true. I don’t think either of us—” He makes a face, like the words aren’t working for him and he doesn’t know if they’re worth saying anyway. 

Ro bumps her shoulder against him. “You and I--we’re not a conventional pair.” 

“That’s an understatement.” He huffs a laugh. 

“At first, I wasn’t sure how to proceed. Or if I should.” 

His smile is rueful. “I know that feeling.” 

Ro nods. “I’ve inferred a lot. But I’m not sure how to ask.” 

“Ask what?” he breathes. 

“Do you think of me like how I think of you? I don’t know if there is a human equivalent to kadan, but—” 

“Yes! I mean, I do. Think of you. Often,” he blurts. “Maker’s breath.” He lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “I noticed you from the start, but I didn’t think I should allow myself any distractions,” Cullen admits. “The Inquisition is my focus. It has been my focus since I was recruited, but you—I didn’t imagine you would be interested.” 

“‘Noticed me?’” she echoes. She’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. 

He grins a bit. “You’re hard to miss.” 

She rolls her eyes, but smiles. “I’ve been told that before.” 

He sobers, and his next words are painfully earnest. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone before, Ro.” 

She presses her hand to his cheek, and he leans into her touch. She takes a shallow breath, then another. “I love you,” she tells him. “That’s what kadan means at the end of the day. My heart has a place with you, and I love you.” 

His smile is like a sunrise, slow and sudden and bright. “I-I love you, too. You must know that.” 

Ro lets go of his hand and pulls him closer, so he’s standing between her knees. She cups his face and presses her lips to his. His hands slide up her thighs to grip at her hips, and he tugs her so their bodies are flush. Even sitting on the wall, Ro’s a little taller than him, and he stands on his toes to better reach her. Ro hums a happy sound against his mouth and runs her fingers through his hair. 

A sharp whistle startles them apart. Isabela and Hawke stand in the tavern’s doorway, back-lit in orange. Isabela starts clapping and Hawke whistles again. Then they start laughing and have to hang on one another to remain upright. 

Cullen heaves a sigh and drops his forehead onto Ro’s chest. “Andraste preserve me,” he mumbles. 

“Should we wait for you, Inquisitor?” Hawke manages to say. 

“No,” Ro drawls. 

“Can I have your drink?” Isabela calls between wheezes.  

“Yes,” Ro calls back.  

“Andraste really did send you, didn’t she?” Isabela says with a loud chortle. She and Hawke lurch back inside. The tavern door swings shut. 

“Are they gone?” Cullen asks, face still buried against Ro.  

“For now.” Ro gently scratches at the nape of his neck and he shivers. She kisses the side of his head. 

Cullen’s shoulders loosen and he kisses up her neck and throat. Ro lets loose a giggle, and he pulls away. 

“Sorry, I’m ticklish,” she explains. 

He grins. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. 

Ro leans down and rests her forehead against his. Her eyes fall shut, and just because she can, she says, “Kadan.” 

He kisses her again, and she can feel him smiling against her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shanedan--I'll hear you (respectful greeting)  
> Ataas shokra--Glorious struggle (common greeting among vashothari; I like to think it's a way someone recognizes that another person doesn't follow the Qun, and that they share the experience of living outside the Qun)


	14. Emprise du Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm full of whimsy, this is the second chapter posted today! Make sure you read chapter 13, or you'll miss some exciting stuff!

Cole’s heels bounce off of the wall where he’s perched, high up near the mage tower entrance. 

Roshanak joins him and looks down into the gardens. Morrigan peruses Ro’s flower garden and Kieran seems to be questioning Mother Giselle. Ro wishes she could hear them from here--Kieran always says the most interesting things. He's a sweet child; Roshanak 

Beside her, Cole makes a small humming sound. He takes Ro’s right hand, and brings his face close to her palm. 

Ro tilts the brim of his hat back a little to better see his face. “What is it?” 

“Isabela said she knew a woman who could read someone’s future from their palms,” he says. “I can’t read anything from your hand except the past. Can people know the future if they know the past?” 

“Sometimes,” Ro muses. “You know, some people argue that palm reading isn’t real.” 

“Maybe not to them,” he replies. 

Ro quirks an eyebrow. “Reality is subjective?” 

“Yes.” 

That’s something to think about, probably late at night when she can’t sleep. 

“I can’t look too close at your other hand. The mark hurts my eyes and makes my ears ring,” he says. “It’s like the way your magic sounds, but too much all at once.” 

“Does it get louder when I close rifts?” 

“Yes and no. It’s like music, a crescendo and decrescendo,” he explains. 

Cullen approaches from Cole’s other side. 

“Roshanak, Cole,” Cullen greets them. 

“Kadan,” Ro replies. “Cole was trying to read my palm, but I think it’s a learned skill.” 

“I would like to learn,” Cole says, voice bright. “I can do that now. I’m not good at a lot of things, but Varric says learning takes time.” 

“That’s true,” Ro says. “It took me more than a month to make a proper ice wall. Most were sad, little frost fences.” 

“They weren’t sad,” Cole remarks. “Little, but helpful.” 

Roshanak grins. 

“You’re thinking loud, you were before you came to talk to me,” Cole says. “But I can’t make out your words today. What’s wrong?” 

“I was talking with Solas. He said some things,” she says. “Actually, he told me he likes and respects me, but he said it in the rudest way possible.” 

Cullen scowls. “What did he say?” 

“He said that qunari are barbarians and brutes, but--wonder of wonders--I’m not and he thinks well of me for not giving in to my ‘base nature,’” she spits out.  

“Admiration catches in his throat, strange and unexpected. She is unexpected,” Cole murmurs.

“Never faced a situation, a woman quite like this one before. How unusual. Pleasant. She is more than I thought she could be.” 

Ro purses her lips. “Well, if he was so preoccupied with how strange I am, maybe he should’ve put more consideration into his words.” She doesn’t often get angry with her friends, doesn’t like the way it feels, all hot and sick in her chest.  

Cole squeezes her hand. “He doesn’t know that he hurt you. You should tell him.” 

Ro says, “I’m fine. It's fine.” 

Cole gives her a long look. “You should tell him.” 

Ro sighs, and wonders how that conversation would go. 

Cole catches her gaze. “Cullen wants to talk with you. I should go.” He hops down from his perch and spares a moment to wrap a quick hug around her middle. He wanders away, back towards the tavern.  

Cullen wonders, “What were you and Solas discussing in the first place?” 

“He asked if the anchor changed me as a person,” she explains. 

“Has it?” 

“No. I’m a different person than I was at the start of this, but the mark didn’t transform me into something I’m not.” 

“I’m sure you’re glad for that.” 

“I am. No matter what else happens, at least I know I’m still me. Beneath all the titles,” she says with a short laugh. She leans her thigh against the wall. “Cole said you had something to discuss?” Ro asks. 

“Uh, yes,” he says. “I wrote home--I’ve been corresponding with my family since our arrival at Skyhold. Perhaps not as frequently as Mia would like, but it’s better than I’ve done in the past. In my last letter, I referred to you by name, and from that my sister extrapolated that our relationship is not only professional. I answered her speculations honestly.” 

“I told my parents before Adamant that you’re my kadan,” Ro replies. 

“Oh,” he sighs in relief. “Good. I was, um, I was worried you might be bothered—” 

Ro kisses his cheek. “Not at all.” 

“D-Did your mothers write back?” 

“They did,” Ro says and tries not to grin at Cullen’s concern. 

He gulps. “What did they say?”

“They want to meet you, but they trust my judgement. Even if you are a human,” she says. 

“They approve, then?” 

Ro nods. “Yes. They’re happy for me. Neither of them thought I would find someone here, of all places.” 

“I didn’t even think of such things, when this all began,” Cullen tells her.

“What did your brother and sisters have to say about me being a qunari?” Ro wonders.

Cullen smiles a little. “They were surprised, for more than one reason. Rosalie wanted to know if you’re beautiful, Branson asked where you grew up, and Mia was pleased. I think she’s saving her interrogation for when you meet.”

Roshanak says, “Now I’m curious. What did you tell Rosalie?”

“Ah,” Cullen says, and flushes pink. He looks up at her with an almost shy smile. “I-I told her that you’re very beautiful.”

“Well, I have to kiss you for that,” Ro declares. She touches her fingertips to his jaw and brings her lips to his. 

Cullen’s hands grasp at her waist and he pulls her body close. He opens his mouth against hers, and she brushes her tongue against the scar on his lip before delving in. Cullen sighs, and leans against her. The kiss transforms from warm to hot, all possessive and demanding and fierce.

Ro pulls away to breathe, but can’t open her eyes yet. She presses her cheek to his, and he presses back, stubble scraping against her skin. Maker, she loves this man. She kisses him again, short and sweet, but with an echo of passion.

He clears his throat, but he doesn’t let go of her. Ro props her forearms on his shoulders and laces her fingers together. They look at each other for a moment or two, smiles mirrored on their faces.

Then, Cullen says, “I’ve been meaning to ask. How are you holding up, Ro? After Adamant, I was concerned.”

“I’m feeling much better now,” she assures him. “It’s good knowing the people here have my back, no matter what.”

“We keep some interesting company, don’t we?” Cullen marvels.

“That we do.”

\---

Roshanak's trip to the Emprise goes better than expected, all things considered. They shut down the red lyrium quarries, free a bunch of enslaved Orlesians, and establish an Inquisition presence in Suledin Keep.

Dorian hates the cold, and claims he's almost tempted to climb into a growth of red lyrium just to get warm. Roshanak feels her face go pale at his words and Dorian doesn't know quite what to do about her horror. He apologizes, after a few stuttering moments of helplessness. The rest of their time in the Emprise, he sticks close to Ro.

Cassandra is now quieter than normal, since she discovered what happened to the Seekers. Roshanak knows she has a lot to think about. When Cassandra is ready to talk about it, Ro will be there.

Cole is unnerved by the red lyrium and the templars and what the people of Sahrnia have gone through. His whole demeanor brightens when they help, so Roshanak makes that a priority. Closing down the quarry is secondary; ultimately, that will help the region the most.

The sun's long set by the time Ro and her companions set up their tents in the shadows of Suledin's ruin. The temperature's dropped to a level that makes even Roshanak shiver.

With the weather being so harsh, she suspects some sort of magic at work. It's something she'll have to look into. Dagna might have some ideas about that.

When she beds down for the night, Dorian, Cole, and Cassandra all pile into her tent. Ro's not surprised, really, and is glad to have people around, even if just to share warmth. Cole and Dorian push their cots against hers in order to make a larger cot. Cassandra places her cot perpendicular to the others, nearest to the tent flaps, which have been tied shut. She says, "I'll guard the entrance," in a tone that will not endure questioning. 

Roshanak summons a spirit wisp, and the tent is bathed in warm, orange light. She has heat runes strategically placed at the four corners of the tent, and beneath her cot--it's still chilly, but it's enough to stave off the worst of the cold. 

Soon enough, Dorian is conked out against Ro's shoulder, bundled in blankets and drooling on her sleeve. He'll deny it later, regardless of evidence. Cassandra's on her side, head propped up on her hand. She reads aloud from one of her favorite stories. Varric isn't the author, but it's in the same vein of what he writes. 

Cole's head rests in Ro's lap, and she runs her brush through his cornsilk hair. His eyes are shut, but a small smile curls the corner of his mouth.

"Ugh," Cassandra eventually says. "I can't look at this anymore. My eyes feel gritty." She places a bookmark between the pages and closes the book. 

"I like that story," Cole comments. "Even if not all people in love are like that." 

"Like what?" Roshanak wonders. 

"The people in that book--their love is like a fire, and it burns. It hurts them, but the hurt is the balm to itself," Cole explains. "I still don't understand how pain can be pleasure, but they're happy that way." He looks up at Ro with a searching look. "Those characters aren't like you and Cullen." 

"Oh," Roshanak says. 

Cassandra smirks and says, "Then what is their romance like?" 

"Cassandra," Ro chides. 

"Everyone wants to know," Cole remarks. 

"I'm sure Cullen will be so pleased to hear that," Ro grumbles. 

"He wants people to know," Cole says. "He doesn't want to share the details, that's for him and you, but he wants everyone to know that you are together. He wants witnesses, watching and welcoming the warmth." 

Roshanak can't help but smile at that.  

"You don't hurt one another," Cole continues. "Though you were both afraid in different ways. But it's never been a fire, never had a chance to burn you--it's a river. Changing, flowing, constant, sure." 

Cassandra sighs and rolls onto her back. "You've been good for him," she tells Ro. 

Roshanak isn't sure how to respond. Cullen isn't the first person she's been in a relationship with, but this is the first time she has anyone around to comment on it. When she was with the Valo-Kas, her friends only wanted to be sure her partners were treating her well and if she was happy. Other than that, they didn't tend to pry or question her.

Despite being close with the rest of the mercenary group, romantic or sexual relationships weren't often discussed. Now that Ro thinks on it, that might be a vashothari trait. Some humans and elves seemed to thrive on gossip, which Roshanak had a difficult time understanding.

Her mothers ask after Cullen in each letter they send. They ask after all of the inner circle, but they always mention Cullen by name. He's become important to them, because he's important to her. It warms her to have them recognize that--the same kind of warmth that she feels now, with Cole's and Cassandra's comments.


	15. Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: There's a momentary discussion regarding past sexual abuse in this chapter--more specifically regarding correctional rape/molestation against an asexual person. I don't go into details, but there is an acknowledgement that it happened.

The first evening back from Emprise du Lion, Cullen invites Roshanak to dine with him. He sends a written invitation earlier in the day, and Roshanak can’t help but be charmed by the whole thing. She pulls on one of her nicer shawls beforehand. It’s likely not a formal affair--Cullen doesn’t have the patience for that, and neither does Ro. Also, Sera ‘accidentally’ spilled half a tankard of ale over the scarf Ro was wearing earlier.  

Roshanak isn’t sure what she’s done to earn Sera’s irritation, but she has some Orlesian chocolates stashed in her room to bribe her way back into Sera's good graces. Hopefully that will protect her until she does something else to anger Sera. Or, perhaps, throwing ale all over Ro is a sign of affection from Sera. For some reason, that makes sense and warms Ro’s heart right up. She can’t help the goofy smile on her face.  

\---

Dinner, as she assumed, is casual. Ro and Cullen sit across one another at his desk, eating a hearty stew made from elk found in the valley. A few of the vegetables Roshanak grew in the gardens make up a good part of the stew, too, and the bread on the side is soft and smells like Ro’s childhood.

They share a bottle of wine imported from Rivain; neither of them had tried Rivaini wine before. It's a dark red, and fruity, with a hint of spice. Roshanak is impressed, and makes a mental note to ask which vineyard Josephine bought it from. 

Roshanak steals a half-slice of bread from Cullen's plate; he retaliates by drinking her glass of wine, but then pours her another. 

She and Cullen discuss her recent trip the Emprise, and the newest batch of recruits Cullen is attempting to train. It seems that as time goes on, the more green Skyhold's new arrivals are. Luckily, there are plenty of veteran fighters to help teach the fledgling soldiers.

Cullen mentions how many of the recruits were once part of the Chantry, and says, "You can imagine why they struggle. Even though they're connected to the Chantry, none of them have the same background as templar. Lay brothers and sisters rarely have any kind of formal training."

"Why are have they chosen to be soldiers, then, instead of taking a more supportive role?" Ro wonders. There are several herbalists and surgeons in Skyhold who would appreciate any help they could get.

"I'm honestly not sure. Perhaps they think they can help more in the army. Some of them do show promise, and they will be ready for battle when the time comes, but until then--It can be trying," he admits and rubs at his forehead. "There are a handful that I might just appoint to different tasks, if only to avoid the headache."

"There's a good chance they're all caught up with the notion that the Inquisition is equivalent to Andraste's Exalted March on Tevinter," Ro says.

Cullen inclines his head. "That's likely true." His lips turn down in an almost-frown and he gives Roshanak a quizzical look. “You said previously that you wanted to believe that Andraste sent you. I’ve never asked if you’re Andrastian or not.” 

Roshanak sips her wine and shrugs. “I don’t know if I would call myself Andrastian, but I believe in the Maker and I believe that Andraste was holy.” 

His eyebrows furrow. “Explain the distinction.” 

“I suppose there isn’t much of one,” Roshanak says. “I’ve always associated Andrastianism with the Chantry, and the traditions that comes with that. For example, I’ve read the Chant, but I never heard it recited or sung until I came to Haven.” 

Cullen makes a noise of acknowledgement. “Were you raised with certain beliefs other than Andrastianism?” 

“No. My mothers let me form my own beliefs. Issra doesn’t know whether or not there are gods or the Maker, but Rani is fond of the Elven pantheon. She’s always liked a good story, so perhaps her interest has less to do with belief.” Ro shrugs. “The Qun doesn't deny the existence of a god or gods, but only the priests focus on that area. My parents weren't involved in directly interpreting the more esoteric parts of the Qun. They never felt qualified to teach me about religion.” 

“Honnleath had a small Chantry. My family attended the weekly services there all throughout my childhood,” Cullen says. “I can’t remember a time when the Chantry didn’t have an important place in my life. It's difficult to imagine what my faith would be like if I hadn't any contact with the Chantry. I admire you for your faith. You have more reasons than most not to believe in Andraste or the Maker.” 

“I won't argue that. When I was maybe fourteen years old, I snuck into the Hercinia Chantry. Well, I snuck as best I could. I’ve never been good at being covert. One of the sisters discovered me, and she all but had me thrown out,” Ro explains with a short laugh. 

“What?” Cullen demands. He’s frowning. “She didn’t allow you to stay? Why?” 

“Cullen, I’m qunari. The Chantry doesn’t much like us,” Ro says. “Weren’t there issues between the Qunari and the Chantry in Kirkwall?”  

“Issues might be an understatement,” Cullen says. “But you’ve never followed the Qun. It wasn’t her right to throw you out.” 

“I know,” Ro sighs. “Maybe that’s why I’m hesitant about calling myself Andrastian.” 

He blinks. "Or course. I’m sorry you had to experience that. Maker, what you must have thought when everyone started calling you the Herald of Andraste.” 

“I wasn’t angry about it. Intimidated and confused, yes. Absolutely. Now that I’ve had more time to think on it, I’m not surprised at how easily I was accepted as the Herald of Andraste,” Ro states. “Well, relatively easy.” 

“Why is that?” 

“Andraste is--she’s a divine figure. She’s otherworldly. She was human, but she was also so much more than that,” Ro explains. “Maybe if I were a human or an elf, people would have a difficult time seeing past the mundanity of my race. Since I’m qunari, I’m already strange to most Andrastians. It only makes sense that the strangeness continue.” 

Cullen nods. “I suppose that does make sense. I've wondered--do you believe you are holy?” 

She shakes her head and snorts in amusement. “No. Not holy. I hope the Maker sent me, but I’m not a second Andraste,” she replies. She looks at Cullen for a long moment and asks, “Do you think I’m holy?” 

He looks away, takes a moment to gather the right words. “It’s like you said. Andraste is otherworldly. It’s difficult to imagine... falling in love with someone like that. Someone intangible.” 

“I endeavor to be as tangible as possible,” Ro states. “It’s not difficult, you should know.” 

“I’m oddly glad to hear it,” Cullen says and smiles. He stands and begins clearing away their plates and silverware. 

Roshanak rises to help, and they pile everything on a tray. Someone will be by in the morning to fetch it. 

Cullen’s gone quiet--he seems caught up in his thoughts, and once the last dish is placed out of the way, Roshanak reaches out to take his hand. He blinks up at her, pulled back into the present. 

“What is it?” she asks. 

“I find myself wondering what will happen after this war is over. The Inquisition won’t last forever, and I don’t want to move on. Not from you,” he says and strokes her cheek with his thumb. Then, he glances downwards, and his hand rests along her jaw. “But I don’t know--I’m not sure if you—” 

“Cullen,” Ro says. “I don’t want to move on from you, either. Ever, if I have my way.” 

He tugs her face down towards his, kisses her with sharp affection. She kisses back, all aglow with happiness. 

“Would you,” he whispers against her lips, “Would you like to stay the night?” 

“I'd love to,” she replies.

\---

Up in Cullen’s loft, Roshanak sits at the foot of his bed. She’s never been up here before, and it’s honestly exactly what she expected. It's economical, unadorned except for a few necessities. Even the hole in the roof fails to surprise her, because of course Cullen would take a room with a hole in the roof and never bother to have it fixed. 

She can’t help but mention it. “The requisition officer can send someone up here to fix that,” she says and gestures at the roof. 

Cullen gives the hole a forlorn look. “It always slips my mind.” He begins removing his armor and places it piece by piece on the armor stand in the corner. 

“Don’t you get cold?” Ro asks. She watches his movements, the practiced and deliberate way he removes his armor. His fingers know where every clasp, every tie is--Roshanak’s never worn anything so complex and she wishes she could take it apart herself to know how it works. 

“Not especially,” he says. "Though I suspect I use a few more blankets than the rest of Skyhold."

"I bet you a sovereign that Dorian has you beat," Ro states.

Cullen raises an eyebrow. "I'm not in the habit of taking bets I know I'll lose," he hums.

"That's wise," she says, sage-like. It’s chillier here than it is downstairs, but Ro's always preferred cold over heat. “The stars look lovely,” she says. 

“That might be one of the reasons I haven’t had the hole repaired,” he says, and flashes an angled smile at her. He comes to sit beside her, now dressed in only a simple linen shirt and breeches.  

She adores him like this--without all the trappings of his job. Perhaps it’s the novelty of it, but he looks softer, yet stronger at the same time. He lets his head fall against her arm, and the rest of him relaxes against her warmth. 

“I love you,” Roshanak says. 

He startles, and looks up at her. His brows furrow in confusion. 

“I thought you should know,” Ro says. “In case you’ve forgotten.” Her grin is teasing, but her words are sincere.

Cullen smiles, and says, “Sometimes it’s hard to believe.” 

“Let me know when you need a reminder.” 

He huffs a laugh. “I’ll do my best." He pauses and tells her, "I love you, too.”  

Ro kisses the side of his head. Cullen leans into her and she wraps at arm around his back. 

“I wasn’t… clear when I asked you to stay,” he says, voice stilted. "I thought I should explain." 

"Explain what?" Ro wonders. She scoots back and rests her hand on his shoulder. The muscles and bone beneath her fingers are tense, and Cullen's expression echoes that tension. The sudden change in his demeanor alarms her. "Cullen." 

"You should know--" he starts, then pauses. An almost-sigh escapes him. "I don't--I haven't had an occasion to explain this before, and I'm honestly a little lost as to how to begin." 

Ro's hand slides down his shoulder and arm, and she laces her fingers between his. She doesn't say anything, just waits. 

"I don't want to assume your thought or expectations," he tells her. 

"Regarding what?" she asks.

"Um, sex, actually," he says, and rubs at the back of his neck. "We haven't--I've never had an interest," he explains. "I remember when I was fifteen or sixteen and everyone was making such a fuss about relationships and who was sleeping with whom and--I didn't understand. I only wanted to be a templar, and I couldn't comprehend why all the other recruits were so distracted by something so... trivial. 

"I mentioned before that the templars in Kinloch Hold were tormented by demons before we were rescued. If we were rescued. Most were not. I couldn't--the demons targeted me for my disinterest," he says. The words come out choppy and harsh. "Kept trying to get into my head, telling me they could fix me, show me how I'm supposed to be. It was more than just words, they--" He stops, and his lips form a thin, white line. Then, in a low undertone, he admits, "I'm still not sure what happened in my head and what happened in reality. It all feels the same."

Roshanak can't breathe for a moment, and a leaden weight settles in her gut. 

"Cullen," Roshanak murmurs. "Cullen, you don't have to explain, especially if it hurts you." 

He closes his eyes. "It was easier with the lyrium. There were no nightmares, at least none that I could remember. What happened in the tower dulled over time, and I believed that was normal."

Cullen lets out a breath and opens his eyes. He stares down at their fingers, folded together.

"When I stopped taking lyrium, it all flooded back, as if the rebellion happened a month before, not ten years before." 

Ro touches her free hand to his chin. She turns his face upwards. "Cullen, look at me," she says.

He does, but it takes a moment and there's a deep furrow between his brows.

Roshanak lets her hand slip down, so it rests against the side of his neck. "We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. I don't have any expectations. I'm not going to push, and I'm not upset or disappointed." She pauses, frowns. "Well, I'm upset about what you went through, and I'm upset that I can't really help. But Cullen, I won't require or demand anything from you, not when it comes to this."

Her lips turn up in a there-and-gone smile. "Actually, I'm a little bit like you in that I tend not to be interested in sex. At least, I'm not interested unless I really, truly like someone." She offers a small shrug. "I need that strong emotional connection first, before anything else. Even when that happens, sex still isn't particularly important to me." 

"You're not just saying so?" he wonders. 

"You know me better than that," she chuffs. 

"I do. You're right." Some of the tightness in his frame eases and he slumps against her.  

Ro hugs him close, presses her face into his hair. "Besides, you know I like to be contrary. Going about things in a way that people don't expect or agree with is my second favorite pastime."

"I don't doubt that. What's your first favorite pastime, then?"

"Gardening," she says.

"I would've liked to be with you like that," he sighs. "If things weren't as they are. Perhaps... Perhaps I'll feel differently in the future." 

"And if not, that's fine, kadan," she tells him. "I promise."

He nods. 

"Kissing is still on the table, right?" she clarifies.

Cullen grins, though it's still a little bleak. "Ah, yes. It's nice. I-I enjoy kissing you."

"Good," she says and leans down claim a kiss.

His palms cup her jawline, and he makes a soft noise that Ro feels rather than hears. She draws back and kisses his nose.

The rigidity in his body is gone, and he sways into her arms, presses his face against her collarbone. Cullen takes a deep breath, and lets it out in a sigh. "Thank you," he says, voice muffled by the folds of her shawl.

Ro chuffs. "You don't have to thank me."

"You're the first person I've told," he admits.

"I'm glad you've trust me with that," she says. "Both who you are and what's happened in your past."

He leans back and looks up at her. His eyes flicker over her face. He touches the corner of her mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Of course I do."

"Can I show you my scars?" Ro blurts, before she can reconsider. "The ones on my chest."

"Why?" Cullen wonders. It's an honest question, riddled with confusion. "Do you want me to see them? I'm not opposed. A scar is only a scar."

"I haven’t been involved with anyone since I was treated for cancer." Ro amends, "Well, I tried once. Over a year ago. The man I was with didn’t know about the scars on my chest, or that I had cancer. I didn’t think it would matter, but to him it did.” 

Cullen’s face pales in disbelief. “I don’t understand—” 

“He thought I wasn’t a proper woman because I don’t have breasts,” she says, and tries not to grit her teeth. “Told me as much, and said I was disgusting and a liar.” 

“He’s wrong,” Cullen says, jaw tight. 

“I know he was. It still hurt and made me wary of getting involved with anyone.” 

Cullen presses his lips to her knuckles. 

“I’m fine now, kadan,” she assures. “It’s an old hurt.” 

“There’s been no one else?” Cullen's expression is puzzled, like he can’t imagine Roshanak’s gone any length of time without an admirer.  

"No," she says. "The Valo-Kas are my friends, nothing more, and mercenary work had us moving around too often to make any strong ties."

In a soft voice, he asks, “Why me, then?” 

Ro grins. "You're adorable."

"Roshanak," he chides.

"What? You are," she says.

He gives her a flat, unimpressed look.

She relents. "Do you remember what you said when we were first properly introduced?"

"Not... especially?" There's a frown building on his face.

Roshanak uses her thumb to smooth away the crease between his brows. "You asked me how I felt about being called the Herald of Andraste," she says.

"I would've asked anyone that," he replies.

"No one else asked. They wanted to know if I believed in the Maker, or what I planned to do with the power of my title," she explains. "But you were the only one who asked how I felt. That left an impression."

"Something so simple--" He looks offended on her behalf.

"Would you have asked six or seven years ago? When the Qunari were in Kirkwall, or soon after they left?" she wonders. "You yourself said that you probably wouldn't have noticed me before."

Cullen deflates, and looks away from her. "No, you're right."

Ro lifts her hand to the back of his neck and pulls him close; she kisses the top of his head. "What would've or could've happened doesn't matter as much as what did. Regardless of the past, I know you're straightforward and stalwart. You believed in the Inquisition from the start, even while others questioned their actions," Roshanak says. "Your belief that we could made a difference made me believe, too, and I've long respected and admired you for that."

Cullen blushes, all pink across his nose and cheeks. "I-I didn't know."

"I could write a book about 'why you' and I think I'd still leave things out," she remarks. "Maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but the sentiment is there. So, scars?"

He nods. "If you're comfortable with that."

Roshanak unwinds her shawl and lets it pool near the foot of the bed. Then she reaches down to tug off her boots and brings her legs up onto the bed. She sits cross-legged, facing Cullen, and fiddles with the hem of her tunic. He isn't going to have a problem with her scars. She knows that, and she's safe here. Even so, the fear and shame she felt before washes over her again, and she takes a deep breath.

Cullen's expression flickers, surprise and hurt mixed together. He copies her--removes his boots and sits cross-legged. "Roshanak," he says, and rests a hand on her knee. 

"I'm fine," she says and pulls the shirt over her head. Her shoulders hunch inwards, and her fingers twist the fabric of her shirt.

Cullen's eyes follow the puckered lines that span from her sternum outwards, stopping near her armpits. Then he looks at Ro's face. "The man you were almost with very clearly overreacted," he says. "There's nothing unsightly about your scars."

Ro snorts. "Shokrakar said something similar. Only with colorful expletives."

He lifts a hand. "Um, may I?"

Roshanak forces her shoulders to straighten and she nods.

Cullen traces the scars on her chest. His fingers are gentle, exploratory, and the lightness of his touch sends tingles over her skin. He lifts the chain hanging from her neck, peers at the pendant she had made of his lucky coin. “Is this--?” he wonders. 

“I didn’t want it to fall out of my pocket,” she says. 

“Ah,” he says, and ducks his head, smiles. “I-I’m glad you keep it with you.” 

“Of course I do. I need all the luck I can get.” 

“I won’t argue that,” he says with a short laugh.

His hands drift down, and his palms rest on the sides of her ribs. He's not looking at her chest, or at her scars anymore. Instead, his eyes are on her face. "Honestly, when we first met I couldn't take my eyes off you," he tells her. "Not much has changed regarding that."

Roshanak grins and swoops to kiss him. Cullen shifts up onto his knees, and his hands rub at the sides of her neck. His mouth is lazy and soft against hers. They stay like that for a time, exchanging kisses and touches, until Cullen pulls back and tries to stifle a yawn.

"I apologize," he says around another yawn.

"Don't worry about it. Can I borrow a shirt to sleep in?" she asks. "I think your shoulders are broader than mine. If not, I'll go without."

"Of course."

\---

The hem of Cullen's shirt ends up being a little short, but rest fits well, so Ro doesn't mind. It's sleeveless, and made of soft, blue cotton and Cullen's mouth keeps twisting into a smile every time he looks at her. His cheeks are pinkish with delight.

Roshanak shuffles out of her leggings and socks and clambers into the bed. "Don't hurt yourself trying not to laugh," she says. "Which pillow do you normally use?"

"Whichever one my head ends up on," he admits. He joins her a few moments later, wearing a sleeveless undershirt and loose linen pants.

Ro sits, legs beneath the covers, and pulls the tie out of her hair. She finger-combs through the curls, and feels Cullen's eyes on her. She shifts her hair over one shoulder and braids it with swift, deft fingers. When she slips fully beneath the blankets, Cullen shifts against her, and nuzzles his face against her neck. His stubble brushes her skin of her throat and she jerks away, snorts a laugh.

"Ticklish, right," Cullen mutters and tucks his chin down, away from her.

She rolls to face him, and throws an arm over his side. "If you have bad dreams, do you want me to wake you?" she wonders, voice soft.

He lets out a low sound. "Please," he says. 

"Alright," she says, touching her lips to the crown of his head..

\---

Cullen doesn't have any nightmares, or at least none that wake Roshanak. She's up before him, soon after the sun rises, but she stays in bed, keeps her eyes closed, and presses her face back against the nape of Cullen's neck. At some point he must've rolled over, and Roshanak is plastered against his back, with her arm thrown over his middle. Their heads are on the same pillow.

Soon enough, Cullen stirs. His hand finds hers, and he laces their fingers together, pulls her arm tighter around him.

"Good morning," Roshanak murmurs.

"'Morning," he rasps, and buries his face in the pillow.

"Not a morning person?" Ro wonders.

He makes an aggrieved sound, and Ro chuckles. He leans his body back against hers, and lets out a jaw-cracking yawn.

"I'm glad you're here," he mumbles after a moment or two.

She kisses the skin behind his ear, breathes in his oak-flower-moss scent. "Me, too, kadan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet baby Ganesha, this chapter got away from me. It's nearly 4k words. Why do I do these things? Why am I like this??
> 
> If you're interested in a Ro/Cullen playlist, look no further than [here](http://8tracks.com/dwarrows/tea-with-honey-an-adaar-cullen-mix)! It's kinda short-- just twelve songs I feel capture their relationship and this story pretty well. 
> 
> I might do an instrumental-only mix eventually. Because 80% of my writing process is making playlists and not actually writing the accompanying stories. (For instance: the m!Lavellan/Solas mix I have posted, but where is the m!Lavellan/Solas story? Nowhere to be seen. Sorry, boys, I'll get to it eventually!)
> 
> Preview, for kicks and giggles: Next chapter they're going to the Shrine of Dumat. BATTLE COUPLE GO!!!


	16. Shrine of Dumat

Dagna is a marvel. If Roshanak could, she'd watch Dagna tinker and experiment and craft runes all day. There's something incredibly entrancing about watching a skilled person at work. It doesn't matter much what the skill is--potters shaping clay on a wheel, weavers working at a loom, and even people knitting can keep Ro enraptured for hours.

She doesn't have the time to observe Skyhold's artisans as often as she would like, however. Some crafters are likely grateful for that. Ro knows how intimidating she can be by merely standing around. Dagna isn't susceptible to Ro's threatening nature, and would happily work while Ro observes. If only Ro had the time!

Dagna says she can combat Samson's armor, but needs more to go on besides "It's made of red lyrium" and "We don't know how it works."

Dagna tells Roshanak, "Inquisitor, I can do the impossible, but miracles are a little bit outside my ability."

Soon enough, Cullen's hunt for Samson leads them to his stronghold--an ancient shrine dedicated to Dumat. Hopefully, after shutting down the lyrium mines and curtailing the caravans of red lyrium in the Emerald Graves, they'll be able to catch Samson in a moment of weakness. Or, at the very least, they should be able to find something at the shrine to help Dagna along.

It's both surprising and completely predictable that Cullen chooses to accompany Ro to the shrine. He knew Samson in Kirkwall, and even if he never told her specifically, he hates what's become of the templars. He hates that Samson involved the templars with Corypheus and something as destructive as red lyrium.

"Will you be alright?" Ro asks when he says he's already forming a small battalion to take the shrine.

"I'll be fine," he says, unyielding. "I know you worry, but I couldn't miss this."

She nods, and brushes her thumb over his cheekbone. "I understand."

\---

The Inquisition forces arrive at the shrine in decent time. Scouts keep the road clear, and the weather stays on the cooler side without freezing. Ro suspect that winter will be mild this year, though she has little evidence to back that up.

They set up camp half a mile from the shrine itself, and for good reason. The ancient spires unnerve Ro; they did from the moment she saw them on the horizon. The soldiers and scouts are quieter than normal the night before the attack. There's a restlessness in the air, which isn't helped by the fact that there are no animals in the area.

The last fennec fox Ro saw was miles back--Ro mentions it to Dorian while they pitch their tents. His hands still and his eyes take on a speculative gleam.

"I've noticed that animals tend to stay away from red lyrium," he comments, sitting back on his heels. "But, obviously, not to the point of completely vacating an area."

"I want to believe it's because the red templars have hunted all the game nearby," Ro states.

Dorian's laugh is bitter and he says, "That would be a kinder fate, wouldn't it?"

She lets out a breath, and admits, "Red lyrium terrifies me. Let me have some willful, ignorant bliss."

"Far be it from me to keep you from avoiding important problems," he drawls.

Roshanak mock-glowers at him. "With a mouth like that, you're fortunate I love you, Serah Pavus."

His expression softens a fraction, but his tone reveals more. "I am, indeed."

When night falls, Roshanak builds up a campfire; the warm blaze draws in her friends and companions from other corners of camp. Roshanak sits on a log and stretches her legs out, points the toes of her boots towards the flames to warm them.

Cassandra and Dorian drag a small table and a pair of chairs over, and establish themselves across the fire from Ro. In quiet voices, they discuss something technical and magic-related that Cassandra found in her book of Seeker secrets. Dorian sketches something on a scrap of paper, and Cassandra watches, eyes sharp. She remarks, too low for Ro to hear, and Dorian snorts a laugh.

Cole lays down a blanket as close to the fire as is safe, and sprawls out on it. His eyes are closed. Scout Harding sits with him, cross-legged, and plucks out simple melodies on a small harp. Cole's fingers twitch in time with Harding's, as if he's anticipating her movements just as they're happening. She's noticed, but doesn't seem to mind.

Cullen shows up last, and joins Ro on the log-bench. The last few days, they've traveled side-by-side, Cullen on his Ferelden forder, and Ro on her nuggalope. When Cullen wasn't checking in with the scouts or coordinating the handful of soldiers, he's visiting with Roshanak, Cassandra, or Dorian. He still stays mostly away from Cole, which Cole now understands.

Overall, Cullen is like the troops--quieter than normal. Roshanak works twice as hard to get him to smile lately.

Ro plops down on the ground in front of Cullen and passes him her hairbrush over her shoulder. He runs a hand up and down between her shoulder blades, presses at a few knots in her muscles, then takes the tie out of her hair. Normally, he wouldn't do this with a potential audience watching, but all day today he's been sharp and irritated and jumpy.

Roshanak knows; Cullen knows. Brushing her hair is a good way to let him get out of his own head, to make him stop running through strategies and logistics, and instead focus on something quiet and calm. He actually enjoys playing with her hair, he told her a couple nights ago in their tent.

That's something that surprised Ro--that Cullen wanted to share a tent with her, and risk all the gossip and scrutiny that came along with it. Then again, it's not like their relationship is a secret in Skyhold. People would probably talk more if they slept separately.

From across the campfire, Roshanak catches Dorian’s gaze. His lips curve into a smile, like he's happy because she's happy. Ro returns his smile, then closes her eyes and leans back against Cullen's knees, relaxing into his touches.

\---

Before heading into Samson's base, everyone checks their armor and weapons. Inside her tent, Roshanak stands in front of the mirror hanging from the center tent pole. With careful fingers, she paints her face and neck with red, white, and gold vitaar. She fans her hands in front of her face once finished, trying to speed up the drying process. When paint hardens, she washes her hands and steps outside.

Cullen's nearby, adjusting one of the buckles on his chestplate. He glances at Ro and does a double-take. His eyes are wide and round, and his voice pitches high when he cries, "Maker's breath, Ro!"

She cackles. "I should've warned you. You've never seen me wear vitaar before, have you?"

"No. No, I have not."

"I usually take it off before sleeping, so I'm never wearing it when I arrive at Skyhold," she explains.

He blinks. "What does it... do?"

"It's poison that's part of my armor," she says. It also has the added benefit of terrifying her enemies.

He blinks again and his lips thin. "I'm going to assume the poison isn't harmful."

"Qunari are immune."

"Good."

Dorian wanders up to them. "I see you have your face on, Adaar. Shall we get this over with?"

She looks to Cullen, and he nods. "Yes, let's," she says.

\---

Roshanak and her companions know one another's weaknesses, strengths, and ways of moving across a battlefield. The months of travel and fighting together has honed them into a force to be reckoned with. Cullen hasn't fought alongside Ro since before the rift was closed at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. She's not sure what it will be like to have another person bolster their assault.

He integrates well into the group, and fills the gaps that Cassandra and Roshanak usually have to compensate for, provides another obstacle between their enemies and Ro's more vulnerable companions, Cole and Dorian.

They have little difficulty taking out the red templars in the Shrine's courtyard--the resistance is meager, and even the behemoth goes down easier than any other Ro's faced. The air is thick with the smell of blood and fire and

"I don't think that's all of them," she comments before they enter the Shrine proper.

Cassandra and Cullen exchange a glance, and Cullen's jaw is tight. "They knew we were coming," he utters.

Roshanak nods. "Let's keep our eyes open for anything Samson left behind."

\---

When Maddox calls him Knight-Captain, Cullen flinches. If Ro hadn't been looking, she would've missed it. It's so momentary, so quickly erased. Roshanak doesn't mention it, but keeps her eye on him. 

The Shrine is a mess. Everything is covered in pulsating lyrium crystals that cast an eerie red glow. Fires burn along the walls; embers and ashes fall like hot, grey rain. The stone floors crumble, the ceilings buckle and shift.

It's hard to breathe, but they stay until they've canvas the whole Shrine. Maddox's tools are a valuable find, and there are a few other clues that hint at what conditions were like before most of the people here absconded.

They emerge from the Shrine sweaty and covered in soot. Triumphant is the farthest thing Roshanak feels, even though they gathered what they could for Dagna. Tranquil perturb her, and the sentiment seems to be shared by her friends. Skyhold has a handful of tranquil--Clemence, Helisma, Elsa, and a few others--but they keep to themselves and Roshanak limits her contact with them. There's enough in her life to keep her awake at night.

\---

They set up camp alongside a river a few miles from Samson’s base. It’s too dark to travel any farther safely, and everyone is weary. Roshanak spends a long time at the riverbank, trying to wash the smell of chemical fires out of her hair. When she makes her way back to camp, the tents are pitched, and nearly everyone who isn't on watch-duty has retired for the night.

In their tent, Ro finds Cullen sitting on the edge of his cot, staring down at his hands. Roshanak sits beside him and rests her hand on his forearm. "Are you--?" she begins to ask.

He gives her a frail smile that breaks as soon as it appears. "I'm alright," he says.

Ro wants to say more, wants to tell him that she was glad to fight by his side, and how she'd like to spar with him in the future, if he's amenable. She wants to push, to ask what's wrong, and get to the heart of whatever is causing him pain. She wants to drag him into the light, and fight off the shadows that darken his thoughts.

But she can't do those things, not right now while he's sitting here beside her, looking exhausted. Ro kisses his forehead and says, "You should sleep."

Cullen tosses and turns for a long while before he falls asleep. Even then, he looks uncomfortable, tense. Ro doesn't sleep. She keeps a spirit wisp floating above her head and tries to read a few letters from home. She has to re-read the same sentences over and over, since more than half her attention is on Cullen. She rests a hand on his shoulder, and it seems that her touch helps loosen the tension in his body. It doesn't matter in the end, however.

Three hours after he falls asleep, Cullen startles awake with a choked-off sob. He stumbles out of bed and only getsa few steps outside the tent before he vomits.

Ro's entire body chills. She lurches to her feet and stumbles to Cullen's side.

"Cullen," she says, and places a hand on his back. She brushes the back of her hand over his forehead, checks for fever, but he's almost too cool to the touch, damp froma  cold swear. He dry heaves a handful of times, then shrugs off her touch, and begins to stalk away, posture tight like a cornered animal.

"Cullen," Ro calls, and her voice rises high and reedy.

"I need some air," he snaps without looking at her. "Go back to sleep."

He doesn't return until morning, when he comes in to change into his armor. He doesn't say anything to Roshanak, doesn't meet her gaze. The area around his eyes is smudged dark from lack of sleep, and there's a hollow look in his eyes. She watches him leave, and everything she wants to say crumbles up in her mouth, all ashes and dust.

\---

Cullen remains distant, even after returning to Skyhold. Roshanak lets him have space, but she doesn't know how long she can stay away before she busts down his office door and demands to know what she can do to help.

Here's something Roshanak knows: all the sympathetic looks she's getting around Skyhold are making her uncomfortable and scared. She and Cullen--they're not done. She loves him, and she's damn sure he loves her, too, so they're not done until he tells her so.

Roshanak does her best to sneak into the kitchens. She hopes the night will shroud her, but she’s pretty sure a few guards spot her. None of them say anything, and she might have to thank them later.

Inside the kitchens, she puts a pot of milk on the stove and scrounges up the ingredients for hot cocoa.

The first few months after Ro came into her magic were plagued with bad dreams. She'd often wake in the middle of the night, shaking, visions of the Fade still in her head. Her mothers would get up with her, and Rani would make hot cocoa while Issra held Ro close, fingers combing through her hair.

Cocoa wasn't always an easy for her parents to get a hold of, not as far south as the Free Marches, but until the nightmares went away, they did their best. Skyhold has very few problems in procuring exotic goods, so Roshanak's never had to worry about having cocoa. She hasn't had a reason to make hot cocoa, though. Well, perhaps that's not true, but never in the last few months has she missed home so much as she does now.

Her stomach churns with homesickness, has been for the last two or three days. The only thing she can do to help herself is make cocoa. For now, at least.

She takes her mug of cocoa up onto the battlements, and passes past Cullen's office. Light shines from the crack beneath the door, and Roshanak hesitates. She shakes her head and shuffles away, towards the far corner of the battlements, above the barn and stables. A horse's whinny carries up to Roshanak, faint, but she doesn't hear anything else from the stables. Overhead, the sky is clear and black and cold. Stars scatter the blackness, and the moons are waning slivers of themselves, sitting close just above the mountaintops. The cocoa steam drifts up and out along the breeze, and dissipates into the night.

Her first sip of cocoa is almost like taking a breath after being underwater. A small smudge of relief blooms in her chest, and she feels like she did all those years ago--safe and warm in her parents' house, and that no matter how scared she might be, she'll be alright.

The astrariums she's discovered help her locate constellations. Her eyes scour the sky, looking for Fenrir, Tenebrium, and Judex. Those are her favorites, but she spots Toth and Servani, too. Dorian once mentioned that he knew of the constellations here, but had never seen them. The stars are different in Tevinter, and showed her a Tevinter star chart.

Her parents told her the stories of the constellations they grew up with, like the ashkaari and the wasp. Roshanak suspects she'll never see those stars with her own eyes, and if she does, it will be from behind a saarebas' mask. The thought makes her shiver.

"Roshanak."

She spins, startled, hands griping tight around her mug. Cullen is there, a few feet away, half facing her, like he's about to turn and leave.

He looks terrible. He looks like how Ro feels, all tired and pale and afraid. It's dark and he won't meet her eyes again, so she can't be sure of his expression, but her stomach twists into knots and she doesn't fully understand why.

"Cullen," she replies.

"I... I need to speak with you," he says, words rough and halting. His eyes flicker to hers, then away again.

Ro loosens her hold around the mug, fearful that she might break it between her hands. "Of course," she says, with more confidence than she has right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
> (Please tell me some of you watched Between the Lions.)
> 
> Fun factoid of the day: I once roleplayed Dagna on tumblr. For a very long while she was my favorite character in Dragon Age. Then everything changed when the Tevinter Imperium attacked. I have a thing for queer kids from Tevinter. More specifically, I have a thing for Dorian, Fenris, and Krem.


	17. The Gardens (Reprise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was driving the struggle bus this week. Therefore, this chapter is short, and I'm posting it later than I planned.
> 
> I'm one of those people who loves starting a project, and loves the good bits in the middle, but has a hard time finishing anything. It's like senior slide but with everything I write.
> 
> That said, fear not gentle readers, I will complete this story. If things go according to plan (and I don't get strapped to the friggin' hood of the struggle bus like some sad, dead extra in Mad Max) this story will be finished by the end of October!

There aren't many neutral, empty places in Skyhold. The gardens are vacant this time of night, however, and lit by a handful of torches that only make the shadows longer, larger. It's warmer here than out on the battlements. 

A single, small lantern hangs from the ceiling of the gazebo; the flame inside fills the small area with pale, yellowish light.

She sits at the table where they still occasionally play chess, sets her mug down on the flat surface, and folds her arms over her stomach. Cullen takes the chair across from her. His curl around the armrests of his chair, and he's staring at her mug, but it doesn't look like he's really seeing it.

"Are you angry with me?" Roshanak blurts. It's a nonsensical question. Cullen isn't someone who hides his anger. 

He blinks at her, surprise flashes across his face before guilt overtakes it. "Roshanak, no," he utters. "I'm not angry with you." His shoulders slump. "If anything, I'm angry with myself. I-I want to apologize to you."

Roshanak snags her mug, and takes a gulp of cocoa. "You've barely spoken to me in the last few weeks." She tries not to sound upset and hurt, and she fails.

"I know," he says. "That... I'm sorry I've been unfair to you."

"I don't care about fairness," she snaps. "I want to know if you're alright."

"I'm not. Alright, that is," Cullen admits, and his face crumples. "Forgive me."

Roshanak closes her eyes for a moment, tries to center the riot in her chest. "Cullen," she says. "What happened?" She wants to reach out, to touch him, but the memory of him shaking off her hand is fixed in her mind, a monument to something gone wrong.

"I don't know," he replies, and drops his head into his hands. "I don't know." 

"Here," she says and holds out her cocoa mug to him.

His head lifts and he blinks at the mug.

"It's half gone, but even half a cup could make things better," Roshanak explains. "Hot cocoa. My mother's recipe. Her recipes have helped you in the past. It won't hurt to try."

There's a slight tremor in Cullen's hands when he takes the cup. "Thank you," he says in an undertone before taking a sip. He lets out a breath too soft to be a sigh, and his expression is too brittle for Ro to read.

She stares down at her hands, twisted together in her lap. "It was good to fight alongside you," she remarks. "At the shrine."

"It was," he agrees. "That's how we met, wasn't it? Fighting in the field."

Ro nods. "I don't remember much from then. I wasn't sure what was going on, but Cassandra seemed to know what to do, so I followed her."

"It's easy to look to her for guidance," Cullen says, and takes another sip of cocoa.

"Have you spoken with her recently?"

He winces. "Yes. She's unhappy with me."

"On my account," Ro clarifies.  

Cullen nods.

"If you want space, or time alone," she begins, "you can tell me. I'll respect that. I want to help, and if that means I have to step away, then I will. Please tell me, instead of shutting me out."

"No, that's not what I want," he says, voice loud. He quiets. "You've never done or said anything to make me believe that you don't respect me, or that you wouldn't do everything in your power to help me. I miss you, Ro. Maker's breath, I miss you and I don't know how to fix--"

"Nothing is broken," Roshanak assures him. She extends one of her hands across the table, palm up.

Cullen sets aside the mug and folds her hand between his own. He ducks his head to brush a kiss to her knuckles. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm unsure how to redeem myself for how I've acted towards you. I can barely understand why it happened in the first place."

"You were frightened," Ro says. "Are your nightmares often that bad?"

His thumbs sweep against the back of her hand in slow, methodical circles. "No. Not since the first few weeks after I stopped taking lyrium," Cullen replies. "I was terrified then, of dying, of the dreams, and I hadn't felt that way since."

"So you ran," she says.

"It wasn't the most rational action, I'll admit," he says with a huff.

"Some fear isn't rational, and most emotions make people do irrational things anyway," she says, and the corner of her mouth tilts up into a smile. "You should know, I forgive you for being an ass."

Cullen mirrors her smile, but it's a dim, small thing. "I'm glad."

She continues, "I worry because I love you, and even if I didn't, I wouldn't want you to be afraid or hurt."

"I've barely slept since the shrine," Cullen admits, and sighs. He rubs at his forehead, where he likely has a headache brewing.

"Being near red lyrium likely hadn't done you any favors," Ro guesses, and gives his hand a gentle squeeze. "Cole hates being around red lyrium. He says he can feel it, and it feels wrong. I wouldn't be surprised if it had a negative effect on templars."

"I was thinking something similar," he says. "I've also been struggling with what Maddox said about purpose, and the note Samson addressed to me. At first, I dismissed his claims outright, but the more I think about it, maybe he's right."

"About what?"

"The Chantry used us. What he said about the power of red lyrium and Corypheus is absolute rubbish, of course, but his anger at the Chantry isn't unjustified," he says. "I still believe the Circles are a good idea, and mages should have a place to learn about their abilities and be safe from others. I would never call Lady Vivienne a prisoner, but the rebel mages I've spoken with... many were deeply unhappy in the Circle."

Roshanak wanted a Circle education when she was a child. She was also terrified of being taken away from her mothers and locked up in a tower or fortress. Before spirits of valor and compassion became her protectors in the Fade, demons watched her while she slept. She could feel them, like spider legs skittering over her skin. They waited at the corner of her vision, blinking out of sight as soon as she noticed them. It was terrifying, but she hated more the idea of being constantly watched by templars. Ro knew to say no to any demon. She knew better than to listen to their quicksilver lies and honey-sweet smiles.

Ro also knew that if she were to live in the Circle, she wouldn't be able to say no to the Chantry or the templars. To an extent, she agrees with Cullen. Mages do need a safe place to learn and grow, but the Circles are not the answer.

"Maddox was made tranquil over love letters," she says, voice soft. 

"And Samson rejected from the Order to a life on the streets," Cullen says. "I don't doubt that he had to go through black market channels for scraps of lyrium. It's not an easy thing to leave the templars. The Chantry made sure of that, in more ways than one."

"You've been thinking a lot about all of this," Ro agrees. Previously, he showed no signs of sympathy for Samson, but perhaps things are different for him now.

Cullen looks up at her, brows creased, and the corners of his mouth turn downwards. He tilts his head in rueful agreement. "Maybe too much thinking."

"Promise me you won't disappear on me like that again," Roshanak says. "Or if you do, tell me beforehand. Give me a sign. A note. Anything."

Cullen nods. "I promise."

"Thank you. Now, finish the rest of my cocoa and then you should try to get some sleep," she says and rises to her feet. It takes a moment for Cullen to let go of her hand.

Ro kisses his temple, and heads back to bed. She slogs up all the stairs to her quarters. The knot in her stomach is gone, but unease still sits in her bones. Her room feels too big, too wide and open, which is stupid since she was just on the battlements, one of the most open places in all of Skyhold.

Now, the space around her is wrong. She wanders from the top of the stairs to her desk, and her hands flutter over the sheafs of parchment and a stray book on Inquisition history. The doors to the east-facing balcony are open, so she closes them and pulls the curtains over the glass.

She sits on the edge of her bed and tugs at the laces of her boots. The door to her room creaks, she freezes and focuses on the stairs. "Hello?" she calls out.

"Roshanak," Cullen replies. He sounds like he's standing at the bottom of the staircase, voice echoing up from the narrow space. "Do I still have an open invitation to your quarters?" he wonders.

Ro stands and goes to lean over the banister. It's almost too dark to see, but Cullen stares up at her. His arms are at his sides, but his entire demeanor is uncomfortable. There's an unsure curve to his shoulders.

"Of course you do," she tells him. "You can come here anytime, kadan."

When he reaches the top of the stairs, Roshanak pulls him into a hug. She startles when he clings back, arms tight around her, hands fisted in the fabric of her shirt. The unease in her bones dissolves; Cullen's shoulders loosen and he lets out a soft sigh, face buried into Ro's chest. She props her chin on the top of his head. One of her hands cups the back of his neck and her thumb rubs against the hairs at the nape of his neck. 

"Thank you," he says.

She's not sure what exactly he's thanking her for, but she's so glad to have him in her arms. Asking doesn't seem important right now. 

However, she does decide to say, "If you ever do that again, I'm going to unleash Sera on you."

He chuckles, and tilts his head back to look at her. "Consider me warned."

"I'm sure she has much better ideas than making your desk wobbly," Ro says.

Cullen frowns. "Sera's responsible for that?"

"Well, it was both of us. We went on a small pranking spree," she admits. 

"I'm not overly surprised to hear that," he says.

Ro bends her neck and leans her forehead against his, eyes closed.

Cullen says in an undertone, "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

Perhaps she shouldn't, but she believes him. "Come on, I'm tired and so are you."

He nods and they shuffle over to her bed. They lay on their sides, facing each other; Cullen presses his toes up against Ro's shins for warmth, and his head rests on her outstretched arm. He shifts closer, and she wraps her other arm around his shoulders. 

Cullen's breath slows, and the remaining tension in his body softens, dissipates. When Roshanak thinks he's asleep, he murmurs, "I love you, Ro."

She brushes her lips over the crown of his head. "And I love you, Kadan." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank everyone who's commented or hit the kudos button for this story!!! Any and all feedback is so so so appreciated and I adore all of you.
> 
> [EDIT October 2st 2015] I've been ill the past few days, so I won't be posting a new chapter this week. Sorry, friends. Next week we go to the Arbor Wilds. I fucking love the Arbor Wilds.


	18. Wicked Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [EDIT 20 Oct 2015] Hello friends, I'm super sorry to say that this story is on an indefinite hiatus. My life is a bit hectic at the moment. A good chunk of that is due to the fact that I'm waist-deep in grad school applications, and I've really been trying to focus on that. When those are out of the way, I will return to finish this!
> 
> [EDIT 7 Dec 2015] Hello beloved readers! I'm now over the biggest hump of my grad school applications. Which was basically me getting started and building enough momentum to keep going. So, I'm now actively drafting the next chapter of this story! Thank you a thousand times for your patience.
> 
> I lied. Again. We're not going to the Arbor Wilds this week. I couldn't get this chapter to work at all, so that means I hate it and I wanted to give up several times while writing it. But then I was like, "What would Roshanak do?" and guess what? She'd finish the motherfucking chapter. And then buy herself a drink in the tavern.
> 
> Thank you so much for your patience regarding the lateness of this chapter, though!

Hawke leaves Skyhold a few days after Ro and Cullen reconcile. Ro invites her to the tavern for one last drink the night before she leaves. It's early enough that Ro isn't infringing on any other plans Hawke might have; Ro would feel terrible if she interrupted Hawke's time with Varric. 

Isabela and Fenris are preparing for their departure, Hawke explains. "Otherwise, I'm sure they'd like to be here. I'm horrible at packing. They're probably glad I'm not underfoot."

Ro muses, "I'm glad they came to Skyhold." It was good to put faces to the names from a book; it was even better to see Varric truly happy.

Hawke smiles. "Me, too. I'm surprised they weren't overly angry with me for leaving them behind. I expected yelling and screaming. There were a few quiet threats, but that's nothing I can't handle, yes?"

"They're happy you're safe, and from what little I know, they trust your judgement," Ro says. "Varric said you're heading to Jader?"

Apparently Isabela's ship is docked in Jader, and Hawke's brother and sister are both aboard. 

"Princess Waffles is there, too!" Hawke crows when she explains her plans. Initially, she was going to head to Weisshaupt to deliver news regarding the horrors at Adamant. Fenris and Isabela vetoed that, and told Hawke to send a letter instead. Then they told her that her family was just a few day's ride away, and any objections she had evaporated.

"Princess Waffles?" Roshanak asks, trying not to laugh.

"My mabari. She adopted us just a few months after our father died," Hawke explains. "In the past, most people thought that I was the head of the family, but they're wrong. Princess Waffles is our true and proper matriarch."

Ro wonders how a dog can adopt a family, but then she remembers the few mabari she's met. They're some of the smartest creatures she's ever encountered. Mabari are a joy to be around when they're not out to kill her. She fully understands and appreciates Ferelden's deep, abiding love for the breed.

It's also possible that she's become more receptive to anything that has to do with Ferelden because of Cullen. It might be best not to think about how her biases could affect the Inquisition--Ro puts the idea out of her head and tells herself her admiration for mabari is justified.

"Cullen mentioned that you've been targeting slave ships. Will you be going back to that?" Ro wonders.

"I'd like to," Hawke replies. "I'm not sure if Carver and Beth are up for that, however. The last time we were on a ship together, it was when we were leaving Kirkwall. Which was mostly on fire. Bethany doesn't have the best sea legs and Carver is even more irritable when she's unwell. Hmm, maybe we'll go to Antiva. Take a vacation."

"I would say that you deserve it, and if you do end up in Antiva, watch out for the Crows," Ro warns.

Hawke grins. "Oh, that proverbial ship has long sailed. If I weren't leaving so soon, I'd tell you about the time I helped the Hero of Ferelden's lover escape capture by killing a whole slew of Crows near Kirkwall. Ask Varric about that. It was fun."

Roshanak blinks, and says, "I'm beginning to think that no matter what happens to me as Inquisitor, it won't nearly be as interesting or eventful as your life has been, Hawke."

Hawke snickers. "Lady Adaar, when you've been Inquisitor as long as I've been called Champion, you'll eat those words. When that happens, find me and we'll hit every tavern within a ten mile radius. I'll buy the first round."

"I look forward to it, then." Ro allows herself a soft sigh. "Regardless of what you do from here, I am sad to see you go."

"The phrase is a little threadbare, but you're definitely one-of-a-kind, Roshanak Adaar," Hawke states, dark eyes sparkling. "I'm glad to have met you, and I really do hope we can collaborate again. Under less dire circumstances, of course."

\---

Varric drags Roshanak to the tavern one evening without explanation. She doesn't question it. Varric's been trying not to mope ever since Hawke, Isabela, and Fenris left to parts unknown. Turns out he's gathered together most of Ro's friends and companions for a night of cards and drinking and stories. 

Cullen is appalled by Roshanak's carefree approach to gambling. He shoots her irritated, disbelieving looks all evening. Well, at least until someone suggests strip diamondback. Cullen loses half his clothes between one round and the next and won't look at anyone.

Roshanak shouldn't be so surprised to find what a shrewd card-player Josephine turns out to be. She plays the Game like it's second nature, and Ro suspects that once someone is a bard, they never forget the craft. The only person unsurprising by her skill as Iron Bull, but he's amazing at reading people.

After everyone stumbles off to bed, Roshanak gathers Cullen’s clothes from where they're strewn around the table. No one ended up nearly as naked as he did, and Ro was torn between laughing and offering him her shawl.

Varric stands near the fireplace, drinking the last of his ale.

“We should do this again sometime,” she tells Varric. She smiles as him around the clothes and armor piled high in her arms.

Varric smiles. “Yeah? Might take some time before I can convince Cullen again,” he says. “Maybe I’ll work the revenge angle.” 

Ro smothers a laugh. “I’ll do what I can to convince him. This was fun. Thank you for including me."

"You're our intrepid leader, how could I not include you?" 

"Varric, you did once tell me that I'm intimidating and slightly unapproachable," she reminds him.

He makes sound of dismissal. "That was months ago, Goldie. I hadn't even given you a nickname yet."

"Is that a qualifier for something?"

"It means I'm here because you're a friend," he tells her. "You're also a very tall, possibly holy leader of armies, but you're a friend. In some situations, that's more important."

"You're going to make me cry," Ro claims.

Varric gives her a narrow-eyed look. "You're messing with me."

"A little bit," she admits. "But I could be a weepy drunk!"

Varric shakes his head, and huffs, "I seriously doubt that, Goldie."

He's right, of course. Roshanak doesn't cry when she drinks. She's more likely to talk too much, hug anyone shorter than her, and then spend all her money buying food for her friends. It's happened before. It will probably happen again.

"I should go check on Cullen. He might need me to heal his wounded pride," Ro says.

Varric lets out a loud burst of laughter. "I'm sure you can just kiss it better. He might prefer that."

"Only one way to find out," she intones. "Thank you again, Varric. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Inquisitor," he replies.

\---

Snow begins to drift down from the dark sky. Ro glances out over the battlements, into the valley camps--fires and torchlights dot the grey and white shadowscape. Soon, Skyhold will be empty again except for a skeleton crew, while the rest of the keep marches to the Arbor Wilds. Roshanak worries about that, like she always does, but her fear isn't anything like she felt before Adamant. The person she used to be is so distant and foreign to who she is now. Only now, when she puts impressions of herself side-by-side, can she see how much she's change.

It's a subtle shift, of course, but that shift has settled on her skin and absorbed into her being. Compared to the woman she was, Roshanak is more confident, self-possessed, and determined than she used to be. And that's just the surface. Only the Maker knows who she'll be once Corypheus is dead once and for all.

"Kadan," Roshanak says when she enters Cullen's office. There's torch light shining from the loft above.

"Ro?" he calls back, voice muffled through the ceiling.

"I brought your clothes back," she tells him. "I'd bring them up but I can't climb ladders without my arms. I don't think I'm responsible enough for more than one set of arms, though. Kadan, would you still love me if I had four arms?"

"What?" Cullen's voice is tinged with incredulity. He slides down the ladder, now clothed in a simple shirt and pair of pants.

"Would you still love me if I had four arms?" she repeats.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, then says, "I don't see why not."

"Four arms, Cullen," Ro presses.

He looks at her, and his expression is torn between exasperation and amusement. It's a good look on him. Maybe Ro should start saying every strange thing that pops into her head.

She grins. 

The corner of Cullen's mouth twitches into an almost-smile, like he can't help but respond to her strange playfulness. "Thank you," he says, "for bringing my things."

"It's no trouble. I hope I managed to get everything," she replies. 

"Even if you didn't, I'm grateful," he says and helps her carry everything up to his room. The place his armor back on its stand. Ro hangs his tabard over Cullen's shoulders and spares a moment to look up through the hole in the roof. 

She's almost fond of it, even though snowflakes float down from outside. She turns her focus to Cullen, who is already looking at her. His lips curve into a smile, and there's a light blush across his cheeks.

"What?" she asks.

He wraps his arms around her waist, and clasps his hands at the small of her back. Ro's arms come up around his shoulders.

"I can't decide what is more ridiculous--you with four arms or me running across Skyhold without a stitch of clothing," he chuffs.

Roshanak barks a laugh. "You. Definitely you." 

He tries to hide his rueful grin. "That's the last time I play cards with any of you. I don't need help embarrassing myself in front of you."

"Oh, kadan," she sighs, and kisses him, short and soft. "We'll work on your gambling skills and Josephine won't be invited next time."

Cullen scoffs. "I can't imagine she'll take that very well."

"Probably not, no," she says. A snowflake lands on the top of Cullen's head and Ro brushes it away. "Seeing as it's snowing into your room, want to come sleep in mine?"

"I would appreciate that," he says. 

They walk arm-in-arm back to her quarters. While they cross the bridge between the battlements and the rotunda, Ro asks, "What would you say to sleeping in my room on a more permanent basis?"

He glances up at her, a little startled, but then says, "I would wonder if this was brought on by the persistent hole in my ceiling."

Ro scoffs. "No. Well, yes, but if the hole was my real concern, I'd probably assign someone to fix it when you're not looking and then claim it wasn't me. However, that's not the case. I'd like to share space with you. More than I already am."

"Oh," he replies.

"If you'd rather keep to your own quarters, that's fine, too. Of course," Ro blurts. 

"No. No, I'd like to. I'm surprised you asked, that's all." His smile is crooked and almost shy. "Sleeping without being rained or snowed on sounds pleasant."

She shrugs with an affected air of thoughtlessness. "You get used to it, I suppose."

Cullen snorts and tucks his face against her arm.

"We'll figure out logistics later," she promises him. "I'll make sure there's room for your things."

He leans up to kiss her jawline. His lips and breath are warm. "Thank you," he says against her skin.

\---

Once they're both settled in bed--their bed, now, Roshanak thinks and a giddy feeling flutters around her chest--Cullen rolls onto his side to face her. He props his head up on his hand and elbow.

His eyes are a little dark, even in the light from the lamp on Ro's nightstand. "Do you experience nightmares?" he asks. 

Roshanak mirrors him, leaning on her elbow. "Not often," she admits. "When I first came into my magic, I had constant nightmares. That lasted for a few months. I don't need to tell you that demons won't accept no for an answer."

Cullen nods. "What stopped them?"

"The spirits that help me with healing magics--they showed up one night while I slept and since then they've kept the worst of the nightmares away," she explains. "I'm not a dreamwalker like Solas, so I don't usually have control of things while dreaming. But I met the spirits during my Harrowing, and they said they wanted to help me but I needed to complete my task alone."

"What are their names? Your guardian spirits, I mean."

"Compassion and Valor," she says, and can't help the embarrassed flush from her cheeks. "Ah, that makes me sound like some self-important savior."

Cullen grins. "You have saved a great many people, Ro. I can't say I understand spirits or feel comfortable with them, but I'm glad they've helped you."

Ro doesn't tell him, but she decides that the next time she has more autonomy during a dream, she'll ask her spirits to watch over Cullen's dreams as well. She isn't sure when that will be, however. Her relationship with the spirits isn't much like the friendships Solas has with some spirits, but Ro still feels bonded to the ones that have chosen her. Perhaps they'll see that she's chosen Cullen, and extend their grace to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elspeth Hawke is my wish-fulfillment vehicle, which is why she's in a triad relationship with my two favorite characters, and why neither of her siblings are dead. Because she's that awesome. She gets all the honeys and saves all the baby sibs.
> 
>  (Hawke's face claim is Geena Rocero. Also, you're all welcome for that shitty MSPaint blood swipe. It took me all of 30 seconds to make.)


End file.
